To Dine in Hell
by The Tygre
Summary: The Titans are going to Hell. Literally. Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! I give you the one, the only, the Crooked Serpent, the Adversary, the Father of Lies, the Great Satan himself! Asmodeus Supreme! All bow in deference to the King of This World!
1. Prologue: His Banners Raised High

For those of you who don't know, November is the month when an important character here comes power in occult lore. Too bad I got this in kind of late for it, though. Anyway, the name says it all. To Hell, and back.

* * *

"'_The banners of the King of Hell Advance'_

_Closer to us,' my master said; "so look_

_Straight ahead and see if you can spot them.'"_

- Dante Alighieri, _Inferno_ Canto 34, Lines 1-3

"_L'enfer, c'est les autres."_

- Jean-Paul Sartre

* * *

"Absolutely not." The Fire Demon bluntly told his apprentice, leaning his chair forward in his private study. "Your little freak friends aren't coming with me on my trip to Baator. You're welcome to come, but they can stay here. Hell is not for mortal eyes to see." 

"Kresk, I'm not going without them." Raven protested. For the past three days, the Fire Demon had been preparing for a trip into the Nine Hells of Baator, which could mean only one thing; paperwork. For Hell was ruled by a strict legal system, and anyone that the aristocratic devils caught, much less a demon, without proper papers, could send to one of Hell's numerous prisons, publicly executed, enslaved, or worse. Devils had had an eternity to come up with new and profoundly disgusting tortures. So needless to say, Kresk was getting ready. And during his trial of preparation, the young Raven had seen to mysteriously berate him for a chance to allow the other Titans and her to accompany the Fire Demon on his expedition. Details were sketchy, but Raven was fighting to the last. Kresk snorted, "Is that a hint of loyalty in your voice? How droll! Nonetheless, I stand by what I said. I'm going into Hell, with or without you."

"Why do you even need to go in the first place? You don't even like Baator! You wrote a nine-page thesis on how it was an economical, political, and social wasteland. You literally said to Drake, and I quote, 'I am never setting a hoof on this gods-forsaken crap-heap of a plane for as long as I live.' Why the sudden change of heart?"

"(Ugh) You're just not 'gonna quit 'til I spill it, are you? Alright, fine, you really want to know?" The Fire Demon shifted his eyes, for he considered this confidential information, then leaned in and murmured, "You know what Hellfire is, right?"

"Of course. It's the pure essence of Hell, a magical fire that is especially harmful to good creatures and anarchists."

"Yeah, yeah, that stuff. Well, I have an anonymous buyer who is willing to pay me a HUGE amount of money if I can provide him some _solid_ Hellfire. What that boils down to really is rock super-heated by the stuff and flowing out like lava. Once its cooled, it's essentially a magical rock that can be used for various purposes."

"But that doesn't make sense. Basic geography states that magma and-"

"Ah! But there's the rub, child of mine! You're thinking with rules for _this_ dimension. Step on to another plane and it becomes a whole 'nother ball game. But back to the point: I know of a merchant who comes to a particular town in Avernus once every year. He sells all sorts of rarities for extravagant prices, including these Hell rocks we're looking for. I'm going to go find him and get those stones, and I repeat, with or without you."

"Why do you even need the money? You have enough as it is."

"Heresy! There's no such thing as too much money! And besides…why shouldn't I? Think of the thrill, just like my old adventuring days. Slipping behind enemy lines, without so much as a disguise or alibi. Traveling to some obscure mountain town guarding one of the rarest resources on the Lower Planes. Being forced to synchronize with a mysterious agent to purchase rare treasure, than slip back out to Sigil and smoke a cigar at the Styx Oarsmen, all in a day's work. Just like the old times…"

"Have you taken into account that in the 'old times' you weren't morbidly obese, your lungs weren't full of phlegm, and your legs weren't half-chaositech?"

"I may have put that it in the 'minor details' part of the review. Look, why are you fighting for this so hard anyway? What difference is it to you if I take you and your thralls to Avernus with me? They can take care of themselves, Hells, they managed to limp along for three weeks without you quite fine!"

"I just think that you all need to know each other better. You're uneasy with them here, they don't feel safe with _you_ here; don't you at least want to try and live peacefully?" Indeed, Kresk and the Titans had been waging what was essentially a silent cold war with each other since the Fire Demon had hijacked electricity and caused several magic runes to explode in Robin's face. Nothing had happened yet, but the air was thick with tension in median area between Kresk's portal and the upper rooms of the Tower where the Titans lived. Raven was a monk, a natural a peacemaker, and so sought to allay any fears and suspicions before it came to bloodshed. And what better way than with a little trip to Hell?

"You're just trying to get your cake and eat it too, you mean." Kresk retorted. "Why do you always have to say that? I'm just trying to find a balance, for everybody's sake. You don't say we should get rid of Sigil just because it's the center of the multiverse. Think of it that way." Raven tried to note. The Fire Demon was only egged on; hissing out, "Don't drag Sigil into this! A hole in my head errand isn't the City of Doors, and you're not the Lady of Pain! Face it, you're not gaining an inch here, a single inch! And just think for a moment; do you really want me to lug your friends to the middle of nowhere, in Hell might add, so they can rile me until I snap? Or is this some beautiful dream where you want me to butcher them all and you're just being discreet about it? Oh, I would dearly love that…"

"No, it isn't."

"Oh well, a demon can try. But seeing as that's the case, than let me give you new perspective on the matter. No."

"How is that new perspective?"

"I consulted a new voice in my head. Now scram, unless your gonna' generate some good ale in the next six seconds." Kresk leaned back and returned to his paperwork. Raven would be miffed at him for a few days, but she would get over it. She would bounce back, she always did. And so the Fire Demon didn't notice his apprentice walking over to his bookshelf and taking out an old grimoire. She looked at the cover, to make sure it was the right book. A camelopard reared on the front, dancing over an inverted moon. Raven flipped open the tome and flipped through the crisp, yellow pages until she reached just the right spell. This was a meretricious tactic, but her stubborn demonic nature was determined to get her way. Even Kresk called her bluff, the paranoia would sit with him long enough for her to make some ameliorations. Out loud, she said in a clear voice, "Huh, the instructions for a spell of _stone to flesh_. Interesting this should be here. Now if only we had someone petrified to use it on…"

Kresk's eyes widened in horror and rage. But deep down inside, a part of him laughed that he could raise an apprentice to go from mantras to blackmail, harmony to cheap cruelty. The conflicting emotions hit each other with the force of a bull. Kresk unsheathed his claws and heated them to glow orange, and dug them into his chair, trying to restrain from striking a blow to Raven…

The Titans were disturbed from their afternoon by Kresk bursting through the door, a false smile plastered on and his left eye twitching in revulsion. Raven was close behind, and she only grinned with vaingloriously as the Fire Demon bellowed out, "Pack your bags, boils and ghouls! We're going to Hell!"

* * *

Trust me, this is going somewhere. 


	2. The Dinner Invitation

_"We want ... to plunge into the depths of the abyss, Hell or Heaven, what does it matter? Into the depths of the Unknown to find something new!"_

- Charles Baudelaire

_"A clergyman earns his living by assuring idiots that he can save them from an imaginary hell."_

- H.L. Mencken

"Excuse me?" Robin asked, looking back at Kresk with a mix of puzzlement and disgust at intruding into his home. The Fire Demon continued, "You heard me. We, which is to say me and _all of you_, are going to Hell."

"Is that a metaphor or something?" Cyborg asked. "No, we are quite literally traveling to the dimension otherwise known to mortals as Hell." Kresk answered. "Yeah, good luck with that." Was Victor's only reply. The Fire Demon turned around and headed for the door, cheerfully announcing, "Well, I tried. See you tomorrow, bright and early kiddo." Raven stared at Kresk astringently, her arms folded like a stubborn bird intent on getting her way. She had her cake, and she was determined to eat it too. Kresk got the signal and would have pushed her out of the way were it not for the spell of _stone to flesh _the young cambion was now aware of. Kresk lifted his head and started twitching his left eye in rage and turned around. From under his robes, Raven could hear the Slumbering Valor daemon on the Fire Demon's back growling. Kresk snarled out, foam flying from between his yellow teeth, "But I _want_ you to come with me to Hell. I might…I might…(_it was here that Kresk began choking on his own tongue while his heart tried to stop itself_) ne…ne…_neeeed yoouur heeelllp_." Kresk had difficulty pronouncing these three words in the same sentence in that order without a negative. The words literally felt as if they would not form. And because of this statement by Kresk, cosmic backlash forced a stellar vortex into existence five galaxies away, destroying millions upon millions of lives within the first three seconds.

The other Titans could hear the insincerity in the Fire Demon's voice, and Cyborg only responded, "Yeah. Right." And that was when the challenge began for Kresk. One way or another, the Titans were going to Hell, and it was up to Kresk to drag them into it. He began with the Titan he connected to the most easily, which is to say Victor. He started simply, "And why won't you…assist me?"

"Because I know you're lying." The half-construct replied. "But you don't know how much of Hell there is. Nine solid layers of eternal damnation, excluding demi-planes and divine realms." The Fire Demon rebutted. "I still don't buy it."

"I think you're afraid."

"What?"

"You heard me. I, Kreskarius Voneitz, think that you, Victor 'Vic' Stone, are afraid of going to Hell (in the non-metaphorical sense). The supposed 'man's man' of the Titans, can't take jumping a dimension or two to an alternate reality populated by vicious beings. You. Are. Scared. I understand, though. Every little boy's fear is really the great unknown. I guess you never really grew out of it."

"Oh, we'll see who's ready! I'm in! Give me your worst! Whatever's out there, I'll take it with one arm powered down and an eye out!"

"Well, if you think you can take it…"

"Think? I know!" Cyborg triumphantly proclaimed. 'One down, three to go.' Kresk thought to himself. He knew how to get Cyborg; it was simple really. Question his masculinity and courage, which would upstart his competitive nature and draw him in. Kresk some what liked Cyborg, meaning that was indifferent to him compared to the other Titans. The Fire Demon considered Victor an actual man, as opposed to Robin and Garfield who were no more than human larva in his sight. Cyborg was a fully-fledged bug, with a tough shell and a punch to back it. This was a man who appreciated the finer things in life: fighting, winning, fame, women, good food, a cold beer, all the essentials. And it was refreshing to meet someone who had a different planar view than most mortals. Raven had the perfect perspective, respect and curiosity mixed with reverence and comprehension of existential meaning. Most mortals only saw Kresk and thought, 'Ah! Demon! Run! He's from the bowels of Hell!' The Fire Demon tired of explaining, "No, no, not Hell. The Abyss. Hell has nine layers. The Abyss has 666." But Victor didn't see demons as demons or angels as angels. Hell was not _Hell_ to the oft-hidden scientific mind of Cyborg. It was just a dimension so terrible that obviously someone had equated it to the concept of Hell and the name had stuck. Demons and devils, therefore, were just that dimension's residents. Of course, the reality of it, like most things, was somewhere in between.

Kresk moved on, deciding to shuffle up the moral ladder of the Titans. In truth, he should have started with Robin, but he wanted a good practice hit before he started taking on the alpha dog. He chided Robin, "And what of you, Boy Blunder? Care to see what lies for you in the hopefully near future?" Robin furrowed his brow, his mask blocking the hateful glance running through his eyes, growling, "Don't try and pull that 'holier than thou' crap with me. Everything I did, I did because I thought it was right."

"So the ends justified the means? Do you know how much genocide and evil is born out of those kinds of thoughts? I believe those were Lucifer's thoughts before he fell, and the words over his throne in Infernum. However to compare a worm such as _you_ to any kind of archfiend is purely sickening to my demeanor. Obviously, you are beyond persuasion, _little demagogue_. But let me see if you are not beyond more _mortal _briberies." Kresk reached into his sleeve and pulled out a single golden card, labeled only TRUMP on it. He informed, "I hold in my hand a single communications card of ultimate power. I was reserving it for myself in case trouble came on Avernus, but I think you'll find more use from it. With it, you can contact any person, living or dead, anywhere in the multiverse, regardless of boundaries or distance." Robin perked up at this. While Kresk had been rambling, Richard had seen fit to furrow his brow and push his way through the knee-high sludge that was the Fire Demon's accusations and insults. But at this offering, Robin listened and looked at Kresk. The demon met his glance and said, "All yours, if you agree to come with me to Hell." Robin raised an eyebrow and said, "Anybody, huh?"

"Anybody."

"Show me."

"Only if you agree on my terms."

"Fine, now give me the card."

"Do you swear on the Styx?"

"Yes, now if you don't mind…"

"You realize if you try to back out now, I can force you to drink from the Dark River and forfeit your memories and sanity, right?"

"YES! Now give me the card!"

"Let the record show that one Richard Grayson is in a Styx contract as of now." The Fire Demon instructed, looking at Raven. She raised her index finger, writing on an imaginary paper. Kresk threw the card at Robin. It twirled in the air, leaving a wake of gold and light yellow behind. Robin grabbed the card and looked at the lettering. Then he saw the symbol on the back. It was Kresk's symbol, his hand containing his eye and sigil respectively. The boy practically drooled over the card. Starfire hoped that some moral sense of good or righteousness would make Robin contact his dead mother or father, or perhaps even his elusive mentor. But she knew the truth; the boy was driven only by revenge by a lust for knowledge. And Robin would not stop until his appetite had been satisfied. This card was reserved for Slade and Slade alone.

The card burst into flames, much to Robin's horror. It reappeared between Kresk's fingers, perfectly unharmed. Robin roared out, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" The Fire Demon remarked, "Relax, baby boy. You'll get your toy soon enough. I _could_ give you this card now, but I'm not half the dimwit that the other assorted rabbles you fight are. If I you have this card now, you'll use it immediately, and then try to back out of our little contract. So instead, think of this as leverage. You get your reward when I come from Hell alive. Deal?"

Robin glowered at Kresk, before gnashing, "Deal."

"Excellent! Just think of how much sweeter this will make your talk with old Half-Face in the end!" Kresk now turned his attention to Beast Boy, "And what of you, Stupid? Are you ready to go? Or do you want to sit here on the couch like a good dog and pick up the paper?"

"Do I have a choice?" The changeling bullied. The Fire Demon smiled and said, "Ah, so you come seeking my council…"

"What?! No, I just-" Garfield was interrupted by a magical force gripping the back of his head and slamming his face into the couch. Hard. On the other side of the room, Kresk unclenched his fist and stopped muttering his incantation for the minor spell. Beast Boy, still dizzied, heard the demon say, "Your price has been paid. To answer your question, yes, you do have a choice. Either you can come to Hell, or you can stay here and have the glorious duty of watching over this little ramshackle hut. But I know that would be difficult for you; numbers of nine can be intimidating. Just remember, the one and the zero are a ten…"

"Hey! You can't talk to me like that! What have you done that's been so great, huh? So far, all we've seen you do is sit in your office and try to screw everybody over!"

"And I have, rather successfully."

"Shut up! You can't just dump on us because you're older, or bigger!"

"Apparently, I can."

"No, you can't! Beating us up, threatening us…that doesn't make us want to do anything for you. You have to earn our respect, treat us like people!"

"Fine. I'll ask again: Stupid, do you want to go to Hell?"

"You're not changing anything!"

"Au contraire, I haven't beaten you yet."

"I'm not moving an inch until you shape up."

"…Would you _please_ go to Hell?"

"You're still making fun of- oh, yeah. Sure. I'll come with." Kresk snorted, "Idiot." That the foolish child had had the gall to stand up to him, to try and show courage in front of him was purely demeaning. Despite his fumble, Garfield had a cocky look of triumph on his face. He had forced the Fire Demon into servitude, made him beg: unacceptable. His morale was spreading to the other Titans, and even Raven had to admire a mortal who could put Kresk into his place. She realized that this was because Kresk was being blackmailed, and savored the irony. Beast Boy was forcing Kresk to _ask_ him to join them, and all so Kresk wouldn't un-petrify Tera, the girl Beast Boy had rather recently been in love with. Had he stayed a spineless worm, Raven might have been tempted to revive Tera. But that was the cost of backbone now, the Demon said within…

At last, Kresk turned his attentions to Starfire. He said, in a voice filled more with contempt than hatred, "Well, well. It appears you're the last one on board. You could hold this whole trip with some sense of 'moral outrage' or 'sense of duty', but I firmly believe you will cave. You'll show the footprints of the people who have gone before you. Like all doormats do. So, yes or no? No pressure, it's just this whole circus riding on you."

Starfire looked around the room. She sighed, a sorrowful look in her green eyes, and said, "Very well. It appears that my friends wish to travel to this destination. I will…agree." Kresk smirked, and started to say something before he was interrupted by a surprise moralism, "But before I do, I have one thing to say. I do not approve of this. I do not approve of where we are going, I do not approve of what you are doing or how (_she stopped, for a moment, for the words she were about to say were a bitter insult_) and I do not approve of you! All you do is threaten us and hurt us and do cruel things to us! You should try to be friends with us, we are all living together. What you are doing is wrong! You are a…a blarkblack stink-wormen!" Kresk was barely phased by this. He faux gasped and started to dance out the room, sarcastically chiding, "Ooh! Not that! Oh no! The dragon is breathing flames at last! Oh, what shall I do now? I have to rethink my whole life now! Ohhh, someone call Celestia! I need redeemin'! Oh lawdy, lawdy yes! I'm such a terrible person." Kresk was met with equally unphased glares from the Titans, even Raven. He looked at his apprentice and said, "What? Too much? Fine, I'll go somewhere where my sarcasm and bitter cynicism is appreciated! I'll see you all on CNN! We leave tomorrow, eleven o' clock sharp. Be ready." At that, the Fire Demon departed the living room. As he was leaving, the door slammed on his tail (beneath his robes). The last that the Titans officially heard of him that day was a loud, "DAMN IT!"


	3. Dinner Plans

"_Regret is insight that comes a day too late."_

- Anonymous

"_For a plot hatched in Hell, don't expect angels for witnesses."_

- Attorney Robert Perry, making summation to trial of John DeLorean

It was a half-moon that night. Not a full moon, not a crescent, or even a new. Certainly nothing so dramatic to foretell what was about to happen. The city air was full of noise and heat, trying to bathe in a cool absence of the sun but finding only a deluge of lights. In the alleys and walls of the inhabited monoliths, ecosystems still thrived somehow. Cockroaches, cats, dogs, lizards, rats, pigeons, the occasional raccoon from the nearby forests, and of course blackbirds made their toilettes among humanity. And so no one thought it strange that a raven flew above the streets. Most people didn't see it, and of the ones who did almost all of them thought it was a crow. And absolutely no further cognitions were given for the raven landing in a tree next to the pork processing plant.

The bird hopped along, gracefully somehow, until it saw what it was looking for. Weighing a branch down under its girth, a bulging owl sat, facing a clearing in the branches that showed the loading and unloading docks for the factory. Despite this, its eyes were closed. The raven neared the owl and noted that it truly was obese. Its stomach and chest bulged out and were only magnified by its mud red and brown feathers. Its wings were wide but not long enough for flight, while its legs seemed almost too short for its gut. And the feathers on its head curled back into the shape of horns. The raven, on the other hand, was slim and beautiful, its feathers almost looking like silk in the shadows. Looking at the owl with her lavender eyes, Raven, in her raven form, asked the owl, "Why do you come here?"

The owl opened its eyes from its nap. Undignified, Kresk responded, glaring with his orange and black orbs, "I like the smell." Kresk had taken the liberty of teaching Raven several _polymorph_ spells, which came in handy for shape changing. For the moment, he only taught his apprentice some basic shapes, animals. This was in part based off his tutelage. So far, he had taught Raven how to turn into a Hoar Fox and a raven. The Hoar Fox complimented his Flame Tiger shape, often setting out the small infernos that the Fire Demon caused. By herself, Raven was perfectly capable of flight, but Kresk taught her the avian shape for stealth. She was less scrupulous as just a bird. The Fire Demon himself picked the owl as his bird. He considered the eagle, but it seemed like too much trouble either way. Kresk was not, under any circumstances, fond of flying. Not heights, just flying. And even if he did have the will to fly, it was doubtful he could. His body fat followed him in his animal forms, out of preference really, and so the owl could only fly one direction really: down. Still, when there was no other means of escape what so ever (save for voiding his own bowels), the demon would take to the skies for a temporary escape.

For now, the two semi-avians only sat and screed via telepathy, with the occasional 'caw' or 'hoot' to emphasize a point. Raven continued to try and draw from Kresk a satisfactory answer to his location, "The smell?" The Fire Demon turned his head (without moving an inch of his body), and explained, "Yes, the stink. Sometimes I like to come out here into the open world and watch mortals live. One sees me every now and then and I like to think I give a few scare with a good HOOT!" At the demon-owl's bellow, several workers looked up into the tree, and numerous ones jumped. It was this way that Kresk was able to identify the ones accustomed to the urban jungle and those from the country. If city-folk heard an owl, it could put them on edge, if done properly. Some of the other workers, who had moved to Jump from the country, laughed at their fellows, the disgraced quickly getting back to work. Even Raven smiled a little bit as the demon elaborated, "But I need certain spots to feel…homey. There aren't that many cults around here, thanks to your little pals. A few benevolent ones, but they're as bad as any religion. I tried staying with the Wicca for a while, but those purification spells they do every now and then always get to me. And the incense, gods below…I haven't had to deal with that many censers since I tried haunting a monastery in Italy for a few years. Word of advice: if you ever get into the possession or haunting business, don't deal with Catholics. Just…don't even bother. They'll have an exorcist out there so fast you won't be two steps in the doorway before him. And don't deal with the Jews either, or Buddhists, or Shinto, or any other religion that has its tenets based on total order and good. If it's flexible, mess with them. But any religion with clear-cut, black and white boundaries is gonna' be a real pain until you have a couple of centuries under your belt. But I digress. This place, the heat, the smells, the occasional violent gang negotiations…all feels like home." Kresk finished.

Raven smiled, as well as her beak could show, and looked over the floor of concrete and the miserable minimum wage slaves. She could see how the sadistic Fire Demon might take delight in watching their daily suffering. It was a moment before the old owl hooted out, "You ready for this?"

"What?" the carrion fowl asked. "For this trip."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess."

"…You know, I didn't mention this earlier, but I used to serve in Hell for a while. I was a spy for the Demiurge. Made some bad enemies there. Barely got out alive before the ruse was up."

"Why didn't say anything about this before?"

"You didn't ask. I'm just telling you this because…well, if something goes wrong, I'm counting on you to carry on the family business, so to speak. You know, take up the Fire Arcanist mantle, manage the staff, negotiate for demons, all that crap."

"Shouldn't Bormulk handle all that?"

"Bormulk's not my apprentice, now is he? You are. And you took those responsibilities when you signed on. So I'm countin' on you, kapish?"

"Are you really that worried? I thought this was just routine delivery or something?" The Fire Demon looked into the night, divining in his mind's eye. Solemnly, without at looking at Raven, he warned, "There are things in Hell. Terrible and powerful beings that even the Demiurge fear. Gods tremble at them, angels weep at their name, and men die at their voices. Like I said, I made some bad enemies in Hell. Some _really_ bad enemies." There was an unsettling quiet where the shadow mage looked at her master and was ruffled. Every now and then, Kresk would mention something, or someone, that terrified him so much as to elate silence from the demon and send him scurrying to his quarters for the night. All she could grasp was that the name began with an 'A'. She had searched all her books of the occult and demons to find them, but they all were fruitless. Abaddon, Abraxus, Azi-Dahaka, Azael, Azazel, Arachnadia, Ahrimanes: all fruitless names of but a few Demon Lords who perched their lofty titles at the beginning of the alphabet.

Responding, a faithful Claw of Kresk, Raven affirmed, "Sure. I'll grab the others and get out of there." The Fire Demon opened his eyes and hooted, ruffling his feathers, "What?! Save the others?! What in Heaven are you talking about?" Raven, puzzled but already foreseeing the course of this conversation, said, "Well, of course I'll try and save them." Kresk snorted as best he could through his beak, coming out as a 'harnk', harnking (just because it is a fun word), "Screw that! It's survival of the fittest! Leave them behind as payment for any of your debts. Especially Stupid. Give up Stupid first and foremost."

Raven attempted to sigh through her beak, which, like Kresk's 'harnk', came out as a low 'squawk'. The young cambion pleaded, "Are you ever going to drop those nicknames?" The Fire Demon harnked, "When the City of Brass freezes over, then we'll talk. Until then, Stupid remains 'Stupid', and nothing else. Unless you prefer the alternate 'Bastard Son of a Doppelganger and a Drunken Erect Bull?'"

"I think I'm fine with the first one. Those names get to them, you know?"

"That's why I made them. In case I ever needed a hook in all those little minnows. Like tonight."

"I don't like how you were exploiting them. See, this is exactly why I keep emotions locked up. They're weapons in the wrong hands. Like yours."

"Weapons? Child of mine, a weapon is a finely crafted sword, a devastating spell, or blackmail. It's something beautifully crafted and unique, even if it's just a rubber mallet. What I used was a beer bottle on the ground, broke it, and stabbed whatever was in my way. Reading your thralls didn't take magic, it didn't take research or espionage. It took stereotyping and experience. Victor, for instance, is a man. As long as I bring that up into question, I'm clear. Because like any true bull-headed man, he's afraid that if he backs down I essentially have the right to castrate him and force him into a dress."

"Even I could have told you that. It's when you pull on those 'minnows' too hard that makes me worry. Especially with magic."

"Magic? What the Hells do you mean? I didn't use any spell or divination to figure out those idiots' weaknesses. You put too much faith in the arcane. I don't blame you. It is a handy little parlor trick. But you don't need magic to manipulate people. You don't need mantras to read people. All you need is time and patience. And one comes with the other in any situation. All I did was watch. Like with Dick."

"You mean Robin?"

"Whatever. Mine's better. Slade was an easy way in. Anybody could use old half-face to manipulate Boy Blunder. Even the pettiest of dilettante thieves is capable of it. And why? Obsession. It drives us all. But his hobby is a corrupted and perverted thing, a twisted reflection of what the pursuit of happiness is all about. See, I got him pegged already. I saw his kind on the battlefield all the time. Generals, captains, colonels, men who fell in love with their victories. And each follower was a child that belonged to them. That's all that Richard sees in you, in men, in all of humanity. He spent so much of his life in the shadow of others that now that he's a leader he's determined to not give an inch. Especially to a dead man. Can you imagine how pissed he is? Slade died, and not by his hands, not by anybody else's hands, but by the whole of the multiverse's hands. In that post-mortem mask, I see a boy, not a man, a boy who thinks he's just another drop of water in the ocean again. So when I say I can take that mask off, even an inch…well, the results speak for themselves."

"That's awfully pessimistic, isn't it? Robin has made mistakes, but no one is beyond redemption."

"To get to Providence, one has to walk there. Part of him's hoping that the world will give him an elevator for a shortcut. But most of him is just happy where he is. Tell me, can you think of Boy Blunder any way other than he is now? No occasional facades of happiness, no abhorrent idée fixes, a normal human being?"

"…Honestly, I've tried. But I can't."

"Exactly. His mask is wearing him, and the only way to separate them is to tear them apart. I'll do it, free of charge. Just give me the word."

"Absolutely not. Besides, how would you even get anything done?"

"I could always modify his memories. You didn't know this before, but sometimes he still sits at the main console in your den for hours, just watching the cameras, hoping desperately that Slade will come back. Sometimes, he collapses unconscious on the couch. I could just slip in there with a _mind rape_ spell, tinker around, and **POP**, he'll be good as new. Sound like a plan?"

"No. I'd like to see him try and walk first."

"If you say so. Either way, he's stuck where he is, no matter how hard any angels try to drag him."

"I assume you mean Star?"

"Aye. The Bimbo. She was a tough one to crack. I've watched her for months now and still not many cracks, or at least any I could slip through. That's the problem with the pure. Their righteous. And it's been a long, LONG time since I had to deal with any truly righteous beings."

"You put that much weight on her defiance? She bent to everyone else. That doesn't seem so difficult."

"That's because I saved her for last. If I tried to take her on first, the Bimbo would have won, and I would have lost face…Chivalry is dead. It died with the Old South. Do you want to know why the southern states still re-enact battles from a war they lost? It's because they died with honor. They died with the last traces of knight-hood still clutched at their hearts. (Or at least that's how it's romanticized.) Now mind you, that was because they were denying the vast majority of the human race the basic civil liberties that all beings are entitled to, and they thought of every other race as lower degenerate species, but you can either have valiance or you can have liberty. It's a one or the other deal."

"What about the eladrin angels?"

"Pfft. Eladrins are just demons waiting to happen. But I have to ask. Was there a sale down at the Testicle Store or something, or have all your morons been exchanged for people with…what's that word, courage? Especially Stupid. You are never to repeat this, but I am minorly, MINORLY, shocked that he managed that."

Raven sighed, coming out as a pathetic 'caw' from the bird, solving to Kresk, "He always has courage in front of me." Kresk was puzzled by something and asked, "Why don't you use that?"

"Use what?"

"You know…your 'feminine wiles'. You can't tell me you don't know how many boys in this city are chasing after your skirt."

"Obviously I don't."

"Come on! Look at you. Flying around in _that_ skimpy little thing. You've got breasts, you've got hips. Hells, you inherited your father's looks, even if it is underneath a different coat of paint. Use it! What, you think Malacanthet became Queen of the Succubae through_thinking_? Nah, she let men do the thinking. Just with a different head…"

"If you're quite done. I wouldn't feel right doing that. I don't just want to use people. Besides, I can't form such attachments. Emotions-"

"Again with the 'emotions'…"

"- are dangerous in my situation."

"Except, of course, for _them_. " The Fire Demon brought forward. There was a moment of silence as she stared at her claws, eyes glazed over, finally agreeing, "Yeah. I guess that's why I won't just use being a woman to get what I want. I don't…I don't to lie to anybody, I don't want hurt them. I can't just say 'I love you' when I don't mean it. It took so long for me to find that for real…I don't want to lose that in some cheap trick." There was another blackout before Kresk harnked out pitifully, "You're gonna' make me be your moral compass here, aren't you?" There was only stillness from the girl again, making the Fire Demon harnk out, under his breath, "Shite." He straightened himself up, ruffled his feathers again, and turned his eyes towards Raven, hooting, "You're gonna' have to tell them eventually then, you know. You can't keep things like that a secret, it's just not healthy. Hells, I shouldn't have to tell you this again. Bottling stuff up just isn't right."

The smaller bird/demon/girl hummed out, "I know, but I'm…I'm scared. What will they think? What if everything goes wrong? What if they're just not ready?" The owl lifted his wing and put it on the other demon's back, chirping in an infant reassurance, "Kid, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You found somebody. You chose your side of the door a long time ago. And who you have, well…they're just you closing the door once and for all. There's no shame in that. You know what would happen if there was? You'd wind up like me. You want that? You want to be fat and sleeping alone every night? You want to die without a single child (save of course for those fifty six illegitimate ones, nine of which I'm still putting through college), or anyone to hold at night? Nah, trust me. Things are better this way. You just have to give it time. And demons, well, we've got all the time in the world. Go off with whoever. Just let me walk you down the aisle if you ever get married, eh?" Kresk chuckled at this last part, patting his apprentice on the back with his wing.

It was rare that Kresk showed these common, tender moments of humanity. Raven, her violet eyes wanting to produce tears, looked at the fat old owl and said, "Sure." The Fire Demon vibed, "Okay. Now, let's get back home. There's work to be done." Raven took to the air with ease, her black feathers not making a sound. Kresk launched himself off the tree-branch and fell for a moment, before the violent flapping of his wings gave him enough altitude to propel him through the night sky, his Apprentice leading the way. And down below, a man saw an owl for the very first time in his life.

* * *

**For those aspiring ornithologists out there, I based Kresk off a modified Powerful Owl,**_**Ninox Strenua**_** AKA the Great Hawk Owl, and Raven is actually a Little Raven, **_**Corvus Mellori.**_** Don't ask me WHY they are both birds native to Victoria and South Australia. They just are. Roll with it. Now as to Raven's mystery lover…well that's your call right now. Go to my profile page, and vote for a candidate on the poll. If you think your pick can't work, don't worry, I'll figure something out. I always do. And if any of you complain about there not being any canon subjects, well…**

**I didn't come here to do canon pairings, now did I?**


	4. Breakfast

"_Sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."_

- Lewis Carroll

_"O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts;  
Possess them not with fear; take from them now  
The sense of reckoning, if the opposèd numbers  
Pluck their hearts from them."_

- William Shakespeare, _Henry V: Act IV, Scene I_

Raven woke in her bed, early the next morning. She had made it customary to do so in the Titans' home, but then again, noon could be considered early by certain member's standards. But in any case, she was attuned to at least an hour of privacy if she could help it. Normally, this time was spent in earnest meditation. It was only after her initiation to the Arcanists in Sigil that she started something else. Sighing, Raven closed her eyes and remembered the arms of her sweetheart. The shadow mage tenderly placed her hands on her own shoulders to emulate the sensation They wrapped around her like wings, and she swam through every feeling. Their claws on her thigh, the look in their eyes, their voice in her ear, the taste of their tongue, the smell of…bacon?

Raven sniffed the air, for over the smell of incense and lavender (mixed with a very faint whiff of brimstone), there was the distinct scent of cooking pork. And there was the sound of sizzling to accompany it. Raven checked her clock. The device clearly read a quarter past five in the morning. No one should be awake, in fact, if anything, this was when other Titans usually crawled to bed. Unless…well, this is something she would have to see.

Raven got out of bed, slipped into her shoes, and threw on her cloak for appearances' sake. She walked down the hall, reticent as a raccoon, and began to move towards the kitchen. Outside the window, orange was beginning to bleed into the purple sky. Out of habit, Raven checked the darkest corner of the welkin. There were still a few stars surrounding the defiant one. Good. That one shouldn't be alone this early.

And then the young cambion looked into the kitchen. Her eyes widened, but out of fear or entertainment was indiscernible. Standing there, right there, on enemy territory, Kresk was cooking slabs of bacon the size of his fingers. He was muttering out a song, which sounded like 'Route 66', until Raven heard the altered, demonic lyrics. (_"Oh, yeah! Get your kicks, on route 666!"_) He finished the bacon, not a moment too soon, and scooped it on a plate. There was enough to feed even the ravenous Starfire and Cyborg spread out on the bureau.

Scattered all along the table was a feast fit for any king or emperor. Pancakes, waffles, and muffins stacked themselves on plates and in baskets, varying from blueberry to chocolate to macadamia banana nut and raspberry. Like torpedoes ready for fire, juicy sausages lay on a platter, next to their patty brothers. Sliced country ham, chicken fried chicken, and pork chops filled with so much sodium even the Dead Sea would need a drink waited for the brave of tongue. Hash browns and fried potatoes stared at each other, intent on proving on who was the superior spud. Grits grinned, butter buckled, and margarine maddened in anticipation. Three kinds of eggs were available: a tray of omelets ready to be customized (via a small selection of peppers, cheese, black forest ham, mushrooms, and chives), a plate of sunny side up with bulbs like the eyes of a basilisk, and two bowls of fluffy scrambled eggs. Awaiting on the counter, eager to join the fray, coffee as dark as sin stood by pure sugar and cream, milk (extra creamy, for Raven had a sneaking suspicion that the Fire Demon had dipped into his own reserves of demonic sperm whale milk), and juice from oranges the size of the younger mage's head calmly flowed, allying five kinds of syrup, a bowl of succulent fruits, and a small fondue pot of chocolate (!).

To complete the horrifying ritual, Kresk had tied an apron around his neck that said, "He that but looketh on a plate of ham and eggs to lust after it hath already committed breakfast with it in his heart." (The irony being that this was, in fact, said by renowned Christian writer C.S. Lewis.) Had Raven not summoned the Dragons Below earlier, then she may have gone insane from the spectacle. For there was nothing more disturbing and abhorrent nature of the known multiverse than the sight of the tanar'ri scooping bacon on to a platter and whistling 'Someone's in the Kitchen With Dina.'

Oh, the horror! The horror!

Kresk looked up and with a smile said, "Good morning, star-shine! The world says hello!" Raven shivered for a moment before finally sputtering out, "I want to ask, but I'm afraid of the answer." The Fire Demon chuckled and said, "Go take a shower while I boil some green tea. That ought to make you feel better." Raven took Kresk's advice and ran for a bath. In less then a second, she was out of her clothes and in the shower. She scrubbed and scrubbed, but _gods_, it didn't feel like the water could be hot enough to rinse out what she had just seen. It was Kresk.

Doing a good deed for the Titans.

Of his own free will.

_**Madness**_.

Raven walked back to her room, a towel wrapped around her, and put on a fresh layer of clothes after putting her old ones in the hamper. When she returned to the kitchen, she barely had a moment to notice the kettle standing before the Fire Demon gave a her a cup of green tea with added ginseng. In a disturbingly, deeply disturbing at that, maternal voice, Kresk said, "Now have yourself a seat while I go get the biscuits and jam." Raven sat down at the table, clearing a space between a mountain of flapjacks and a river of buttered toast. Kresk put down a plate of fresh, doughy biscuits and placed several preserves next to it. It seemed like a red bolt of lightning was in front of Raven the next moment. As if it was an element unto itself, it seemed as if the Fire Demon had ordered breakfast to move aside so he could see his apprentice. She had always known that Kresk could control fire, but was unaware that daily meals could qualify as a manipulative element.

Furthermore, a well-seasoned smell was entering the shadow mage's nose. Looking down, Raven was stunned to see a saucer that had a biscuit on it, accompanied by three very small dabbles of sawmill gravy, jam, and butter, neatly separated in a triumvirate around the bread itself. What was incredible was that the cambion had no memory of Kresk putting the saucer down in front of her. Truly, Kresk was a master of the element of breakfast.

The Fire Demon gently explained, "Now then, let me explain. I imagine you are going through quite a bit of shock at the moment, but I am perfectly fine. It's just that sometimes, when I'm nervous, I have the compulsion to cook. More importantly, I don't think your idiot thralls grasp the peril they are in. Chances are, more likely than not, they won't live to see tomorrow. So, this is the last meal, so to speak. One orgy of grease and breakfast to make up for all the future morning meals they will miss."

Raven eyed one of the bowls of scrambled eggs. They seemed rather off-color, and she wondered out loud, "Are these eggs poison?"

"No." The Fire Demon defended. The shadow mage reached for the bowl, and Kresk snatched it away as quickly as he could, spurting out, "Maybe."

Sighing, Raven ripped her biscuit in half, all the while listening to the demon and checking for any unusual signs. She dipped some of the bread into the sawmill gravy and put in her mouth. Suddenly, time stopped. Kresk spoke slower and slower. The sheer flavor in her mouth forced a tear to her eyes, and she was afraid to swallow, paranoid that the flavor would disappear forever. Not hint of arcane manipulation or components was present. This was just a biscuit, and yet so much more. This was a _god's_ biscuit.

When the cambion was done inhaling the biscuit, drowning it in gravy and jam, she swallowed and said, "So, you managed to take something harmless as breakfast and turn it into another one of your pessimistic hands-on morals?" Kresk laughed out, "Child of mine, nothing in this house is harmless! Especially breakfast. Every time I come up here, I can feel tension boiling just underneath the surface. Oddly enough, you seem to swim through it. I suppose that's when your rage comes in handy. I'd pick less talkative wells, but to each his own."

"First, old Fire Demon, you know I don't ever intentionally go berserk. Second, even if I did, I wouldn't use my thralls- friends that way."

"I heard that!"

"Heard what?" The demon whooped and hollered, "I'm starting to rub off on you! Here, have another biscuit!" Raven sternly reproached, "It's not something to be proud of. I think I've been spending too much time around demons. I'm starting to take…an immortal's view of the world. It's not healthy."

"Neither is my bacon, but you're gonna' eat it, chew it, savor it, and swallow it all the same. And you know what you're gonna' do in the end? You're gonna' eat another piece."

"How many times did you just use the term 'gonna' in that sentence?"

"Enough for you to quit dodging me. See what I'm saying?" Raven flatly stared at her monstrous mentor and said, "I'm on a diet." At which point, Kresk only clicked his tongue. A scuffling came from the hallway. Emerging with tired eyes and a spine bent in insomnia, Garfield crept out of the shadows. The Fire Demon looked over at him with a little surprise and puzzled, "You organized the forks that fast?" In response, Beast Boy threw the corpse of a rat nearly the size of a lion cub on the floor. Spines ran down its back, and Raven could clearly see a small set of horns on its head. Kresk grunted, "Alright, have yourself some breakfast. I'm going to see if I can't poke the other idiots awake."

Beast Boy walked over to the table and sat in front of Raven, where Kresk had been. His head slammed on to the surface, and Raven irasciblely asked, "Where have you been?" Not lifting his head, Garfield growled in a bushed, weak voice, "That ass had me up all night practicing manners. He said he didn't want me to embarrass him in front of the other demons. He woke me up at 2:00 A.M. for starts. I told him to piss off, and the next thing I know, I'm in a torture chamber downstairs with him calling me 'Eliza' and teaching me how to speak Italian."

"Eliza, where the devil my slippers?!" The Fire Demon asked in a thick British accent, following the statement with an absurd, drawn-out, high pitched laugh. Beast Boy shuddered, finally lifting his head and snarling, "I swear, the moment he…is that chocolate?" The green one sniffed the air, his face gaining energy and life. Nothing can lift the spirits of a being like the prospect of chocolate. "Oh, yeah. It's for the strawberries, I think. There's also some syrups and…" But Raven ceased her explanations. Beast Boy was already grabbing bananas, peaches, apple slices, syrups, and drizzling chocolate. Raven decided to see how Kresk was intending to wake her teammates.

She let her astral form drift through the halls, her body still maintaining a link as she invisibly watched. The cambion could see the other demon's aura like a dog smells the scent of another. She followed it to Robin's room. Lying there, Richard uneasily reposed without his mask. Raven had seen him without his mask before. But still, it was odd, and he looked a little ridiculous with his specific tan-line around his eyes. For some reason, the thought of an oversized raccoon came to mind. Standing next to his bed, Kresk slouched like a vulture over the Boy Wonder. The Fire Demon diminished his size and hopped on to the bed. Light as a feather, he stood on Robin's chest. He put his face right next to Richard's, and started breathing heavily in murderous, scratchy exhalations. When his poisonous breath failed, Kresk took a more sophomoric approach. Raising his hands, he quickly snatched the boy's eyelids, looked into his pupils and sharply commanded, "Wake. Up."

Robin screamed. Kresk hopped off the bed and out of striking distance to avoid the alarm clock Richard just threw at him. The infuriated leader hollered, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" Kresk contumeliously explained, waving his hand, "Oh, you know, the usual. Haunting your dreams, raping your mind, selling naked pictures of you on the Internet to perverted old men, just the usual nightly routine. Why? Is there a problem with that?"

"GET OUT!" Robin continued to yell. Kresk dodged another object, a paperweight from the looks, saying, "Now boy, you have two options. Either you can rouse the rest of your rabble, or I can do it."

"What are you babbling on about?"

"It's time to set the ponies in motion. Turn the wheel. Get things moving. Press onward and upward. I think I'll start with that little red-head…"

"What are you going to do?!" Kresk withdrew a dagger from his robes and sang,

"_I take this dagger, and then I throw._

_Where it sticks, even I don't know!"_

With absolute malice, Robin wised, "Don't you lay a finger on her!"

"I won't." Kresk went on, "Didn't you hear me? I take this dagger, and then I_throw_. Silly rabbit, hits are for kids!"

"You realize I have to stab your eyes out now, right?" Richard admonished, feeling the absence of his mask. Kresk only grinned, "You'll have to catch them first." The Fire Demon's black and orange orbs popped out of his skull. He caught them in his hands and swallowed them both, belching out, "So that's where that watch is…"

"You're disgusting." Robin put off. "And you're late." The demon rebutted, "Get moving." At that, he left the room for Richard to get dressed and wake the other Titans. Returning to the kitchen, he operated the stove and stirred the chocolate. The Fire Demon's eyes, somehow or another, popped back into place, and the tanar spat out a bronze pocket watch. In his mind, Raven telepathically chastised Kresk, "You shouldn't toy with him like that."

"And why is that?" The Fire Demon mentally snorted. "Because, he's our leader. He needs his confidence up for our trip, and, more importantly, a stable attitude."

"Stable attitude?! Child, have you looked at the boy? The lyrics to 'Stairway to Heaven' make more sense then whatever slithers in his thoughts."

"None the less, if I fail, I expect him to get the others back here."

"Ah, a bit of the old demonic paranoia, I see. Don't worry, if you kick the bucket, your soul will just head off to the Abyss. With any luck, you'll have enough of your memories to start life as a Mane and then work your way up the ladder. You could wind up a succubus, or a glabrezu, or even a lilitu if you work enough. Besides, if you go down I want Bimbo to lead."

"Starfire? But why?"

"So Dick can forever live with the knowledge that in the most dire situation of this little vagabond band's life, he was just so much background and white noise."

"This is that whole, 'the pure are righteous' thing, isn't it?"

"Pretty much. You ever read _A Paladin in Hell_?"

"Numerous renditions."

"Then you see my point. Of course, it's nowhere near as much fun as _A Paladin Goes Into Hell, A Blackguard Walks Out_."

Robin, now in his usual décor, emerged like a groggy reef fish. He stared absently and despondently at the feeding Beast Boy, who, with a mouth full of fruit, invited him to the table. It only furthered to aggravate the Boy Wonder: as if_ he needed_ an invitation to sit in his own home. He stared over at Raven, and she stared back. Their eyes locked, and a small battle of wills raged as Raven could feel blame coming from Richard. However, the cambion won in the end. She had nothing to defend in front of him. And finally, Robin looked at Kresk. Through the eyes of his mask, the mind seethed, and the surly leader lurched out, "Starfire and Cyborg will be here soon. They're just getting dressed and powered up."

"Respectively." Beast Boy blurted out. The pugilist looked at the changeling and puzzled, "What?" Garfield was absent for a moment as he explained, "Oh. Sorry. Force of habit. I've been practicing manners for the last three hours." Robin sighed and turned back to the Fire Demon, after eyeing the food, "So what's all this for?" Kresk was elated to explain, "Last breakfast! Everyone gets a last dinner, so why not a last breakfast too?"

"Are you going to be doing this pessimistic crap the WHOLE time?'

"Are you going to be a prick the WHOLE time?"

"Yeah, I think so." There was a predatory lingering between the two before the young male inquired, "You really think you can buy us off with some fancy breakfast? We're not that stupid." Kresk smiled as he snarled, "It's not thinking with your head, it's thinking with your gut. No one can resist the power of the continental breakfast! Nobody!"

"Huh. Well, I'm not buying into it, and it's going to take a bit more than some waffles to win over Cyborg and Star-"

"Oh my GOD! Would you look at all this!"

"Indeed, I have not seen such a conglomeration of breakfast consumables since the sausage migration of Loquts VIII, or the House of the International Pancake!"

Cyborg and Starfire assured, rubber-stamping Kresk's first victory for the day. Robin folded his arms and twitched his eye. The Fire Demon said into his ear, "Do you hear that?" Robin, nettled, replied, "What?"

"That's the sound of my cavalry! And it looks like breakfast beats brains once more! Dig in."

* * *

Kresk stood in the background for the entirety of breakfast. Like some near invisible servant, he only towered, sucking in the praise, the 'yes' and the 'oh-this-is-great-here-have-somes'. He grinned, hiding his teeth behind his chubby cheeks and his closed eyes. The moment someone was out of a scone, or needed just a bit more butter, he was there in a heartbeat, and gone in a flash of red. 

Conversation was on the average. Aside from the lightning service of Kresk and his omnipotent knowledge of jam levels, it could have been a normal morning. When the last biscuit had disappeared and the bacon had evaporated into starving mouths, the Titans were full. Kresk, still smiling, asked, "Did you all enjoy that?" Four mouths responded at once. The declarations poured in, except for Robin, who stayed mute and sore. The Fire Demon re-avowed, "Good, good. Now there's just one last thing to do."

Kresk clapped twice, and rustling was heard from the vents. A swarm of neekla emerged from the pipes and cabinets. They leapt on to the table and started dragging away the bowls on their backs and stuffing food into sacks. The Titans had never seen anything like them, little demonic rodents dressed in black and tin plates. Starfire gasped, "What are they?"

"They're neekla, neeks for short. There's a colony of them in my basement. These ones are just my servants." Kresk explained. Starfire vociferated, "They are absolutely adorable!" The righteous one was able to look past the neeklas' gray fur, yellow eyes, scabby skin, and feral expressions, and was able to see the adorable creatures underneath. The Tamaranian reached for one. It saw her golden hand just in time, hopping out of range. The neek drew a tiny a sword and pointed it at the approaching digits, prepared to strike. He had been warned of the red maned one. If she caught any of them, it was necessary to perform ritual sacrifice over becoming 'cuddly'. Blade still at the ready, the neekla slowly drew away, keeping his eyes on Starfire at all times. After five steps, he ran for the edge of the table, leaped off, and ran for a vent.

When the plates were at last cleared, and the neekla had gone, Kresk inter-twined his fingers and hissed out, "Now, down to business." The Fire Demon withdrew a jagged tanto from his robes and stabbed it into the table. His jolly expression had disappeared, and his face was a mask of command. He informed, "I will remove the blade at the end of the trip. Until that blade is removed, everything I say is irrefutable and unquestionable. You will listen to my every order, and under no circumstances disobey me without expecting the direst consequences. All I say is law. For all statistics and purposes, I am GOD. Which brings me to my next point; should I not be present, Raven is God. Should neither Raven or I be present, my guard Bormulk is God, and it slowly works its way down the ladder from there. Only if every option is expended will I allow any of you to think for yourselves in Hell. In that situation, Bimbo will lead, followed by Half A Man, Stupid, and Boy Blunder for last. Of course by then there'll have been a lot of, you know, death, but that's just the rules."

Finishing his coffee, Robin rolled his eyes while he murmured, "Got it. Yet another monologue where you bitch and moan about how we're all worthless. I'll keep that in mind. So worst comes to worst we-"

"Et et et et! I don't think that's your call, Boy Blunder. I think that's your leader's call. What say you, Bimbo?" Kresk asked, looking at Starfire. Kori was nervous for a moment, unsure at even a hypothetical lead. She quivered, "I suppose…I agree?"

"Excellent, then. All our affairs are set in order, then." The Fire Demon officiated. "Should not that task go to somebody with more knowledge of leadership, such as Robin?" the alien pointed out. Kresk insufflated, "Experience does not equal efficiency. I chose you because you have a perfect record as a leader. Dick, on the other hand…"

"But she doesn't have _any_ record!" Richard finally defended himself. The old demon began to bay, "Oh? And what makes you such an expert? It seems to me that you don't know the first thing about being a leader! Look at yourself: you've already betrayed your troupe, twice, you've failed numerous other times, and you insist on raising conflict whenever possible! Wherever you go, misery is sure to follow. If not for the actions of your team-mates, I have no doubt that you would be dead and this city in ruins."

"Oh yeah? And what makes you an expert? You don't know what it's like, to have to lead. Sometimes, it's making hard decisions, putting everything on the line, just hoping that it will all work out isn't good enough. I've messed up, yeah, but I'm sorry. The only thing to do is to keep going, even when it's rough."

"So that's your argument? I don't know what it's like? Just carry on? Let me tell you now, even we demons have standards. I have lead waves of troops into battles, against hopeless odds. I have sent mortals and my brothers alike to certain death, at one point actually planning for their corpses to clog the front lines and act as a distraction! And even then, I didn't forget what was important in war. A good leader, a hero, is something that is filled with valor, loyalty, and courage. _(And it was here, that only Raven noticed that Kresk, ever so lightly, waved his hand at Starfire, Beast Boy, and Cyborg respectively.)_ And when it came time for you to put out, you gave in."

"Why do you keep making such a big deal about this? It's not like _you've_ ever done better."

"You're right, I haven't. But at least I admit that. I admit that I am a coward, vile, and would stab a knife in my grandmother's back if I had the chance. But what separates me and you is that I take it in. And you, well you just hide behind your little mask and call yourself a savior. If there's one thing I detest, it's little, bratty hypocrites like you. Now, you wanna' know a little secret? This trip isn't just for me; it's for you too. When you step past that door, you're going to see what's waiting. And you're going to see what you inherit, everything that's coming to you. Because As-"

Kresk stopped himself, ending his tirade against Robin. There was a look of fear where there once was determination. The Fire Demon was able to wheeze out, "The trip is cancelled. We will go tomorrow."

"What?! No way! You've been making a huge deal out of this from minute one! We're going, and that's that!" Robin counterclaimed. He would not endure this much abuse and humiliation for nothing. Kresk stared at him, and whimpered, "You don't understand! I almost said his name! He could've heard me, and then we would've just been walking into the dragon's teeth! I'm not going to risk it; he could be listening right now, he knows we speak of him! The trip is off!"

"Well, who is _he_?" Robin asked, glad to be back at a center of power. Kresk began to shake, twitching and shivering his hands as he backed against a wall, "He is nothing! He is nobody! I never said a name! He can't be if he doesn't have a name, now can he?!" Like there was coating on the floor, the demon's hooves began to slip and clack across the ground, scrambling his legs. He held on to the kitchen counter, before finally sitting down in a corner, holding his ears in his claws.

Raven began to feel fear. She had never actually _seen_ Kresk go into one of these breakdowns. While the other Titans looked on, she walked over to her mentor and kneeled beside him. In a soft voice, she comforted, "Kresk?" The demon only shivered more, and was now muttering a prayer in Abyssal under his breath. Raven pleaded once again, "Kresk?" There was still no response. In Abyssal, the cambion cooed, "Kresk, you told me that you want me to lead if anything happens to you, to make sure everything goes all right. Now I can do that, but you have to help me a little. You said you have enemies in Hell, but you never mentioned who they were. I can't guard against the whole plane, I need specifics. You have to help me out here." The Fire Demon began to tremble less, and he stopped his prayer. The shadow mage continued, "When I became your apprentice, during the initiation in Sigil, you said that you would answer all my questions. Maybe not right, maybe not truthfully, but you would still answer. So I'm asking, who is it you are so afraid? I need to know. I need to know so I can help you."

Kresk finally stopped shaking. He took his hands off his ears and folded them in his robes, cradling himself. Tears of blood were pouring from his cheeks. Without looking at Raven, he puled (in English), "Alright, for you, I'll say it. But only once, only this once." He motioned for her to move closer. I a voice that was less than the breath of a whisper, he confessed, "What I say now are perhaps the last words I ever speak. With my last breath, I break my oath, the oath I made so many years ago. And I say the name of the Adversary, the Great Satan himself… I say the name…"

There was a tension in the air so thick it choked the sunlight. Time seemed to slow as the name came from the demon's mouth. The dread syllables slipped into all listening ears, and every mouth dared to no reform the word. Quieter than the first silence to be broken by Adam's moan of lust for Lilith, quieter than the void of sound that stretched between realities, quieter even then the steady breaths of Destiny himself, came the name from Kresk.

"_Asmodeus."_

The name rang through Raven's ears. It all made sense now, why she had never encountered this one before. All this time, she had been looking for an arch-demon, not an arch-devil. "Aza-who-now?" Came from Beast Boy. "I believe he said Cas-modia." Starfire informed. Kresk closed his eyes and blurted out, "Asmodeus."

"What?"

"The name is Asmodeus. Stop saying it. Stop even trying to pronounce it."

"Why is this name so important to you?" Kresk slammed his fist on the ground, snarling through his teeth, "It's not important to me! Don't you understand?! It's the name of the King of Hell himself! A being so ancient and terrible that even the aboleths and Outer Gods fear him! Oh, if only you fools knew the folly in those syllables, the epic terror! Gods have died trying to overcome that name, and even the Prince of Demons scatters at his presence!"

"At Azmedio?" Cyborg pondered. Kresk screeched, "Stop saying his name!" Even the mispronunciations counted towards the ultimate terrible goal. For unlike arch-mages with over-inflated egos (you know who I'm talking about), to say the name of an archfiend is an actual dangerous business. Every one hundred times the name is said, the archfiend hears it, and can trace the sound back to the speaker. And woe to the fool who takes any demon, devil, or daemon's name in vain.

* * *

Kresk, shaken, had now recovered from his episode. Between themselves, the Titans were still attempting to pronounce Satan's name. They waited outside, eager to begin their journey, and somewhat glad that they now had something to hold over the Fire Demon. Kresk had one last thing to attend to. Walking into his office, he grabbed a bag of small cheese bits and dropped them into a cage on his desk. Inside were two white lab mice that he had bought several weeks ago from a lab in the city. One of the mice was lanky, had large ears, a slick tail, and large blue eyes. The other was squat, had a noticeably rotund cranium, bat-like ears, and a crooked tail. Kresk knocked on the cage. The mice looked up as the demon slipped the cheese into the cage. At that, Kresk departed from his office. 

Inside the cage, the tall mouse looked at its companion and asked, face stuffed with cheese, "So Brain, what are we going to do tonight?" The squat one looked over, clenched his fist and said, "The same thing we do every night Pinky; try to take over the WORLD (followed by the known multiverse)!"

* * *

**Okay, finally done. I wasn't sure about the last part, with Pinky and the Brain, but I figured, "Eh, what the hell." God, I miss that show…**


	5. Lunch

_"Towered cities please us then,  
And the busy hum of men."_

- John Milton

_"All cities are mad: but the madness is gallant. All cities are beautiful: but the beauty is grim."_

- Christopher Morely, _Where the Blue Begins_

* * *

Kresk returned from his study, the Titans waiting. Robin impatiently tapped his foot while he asked, "And what was that about?"

"Lab mice. Bought a couple of them from Acme Labs when they closed down. Something about nuclear weapons in their basement, or something like that. Shouldn't be any trouble." The Fire Demon explained. A small, relatively human child appeared and tugged at the demon's robe. He was pale, his eyes were sunk in, and he was direly thin. His clothes seemed to be something out of Oliver Twist, a Victorian street urchin's apparel complete with a cap. Kresk looked down and said, "Ah, thanks Iggy."

"Pleasure, sir." Was all that the boy responded as he handed Kresk a scroll-case full of maps. The boy walked away, a scarf whipping in the air. Kresk had repeatedly asked Ignorance and Want if they wanted anything else to wear since they had arrived at his home, but they both seemed to favor Victorian clothing, and nothing could dissuade them to any other course. "Who was that?" Cyborg asked, weary of an answer. "It's a long story. Stop asking. Now. We need to get moving." The Fire Demon retorted.

Starfire was about to say something, but Kresk was already moving down the hall. As the fox that followed the tiger, Raven nodded her head in his direction. The Titans followed, Robin leading, which is to say Raven was leading and Robin was trying to go at a pace equal or greater than Raven's. Richard realized that he was in a familiar hallway. Somewhere around here was the room that had contained Slade's corpse. And there was Kresk, standing next to a very familiar door. He growled, "Finally!" before allowing the rest of the young men and women to assemble. The door was weathered, but other than that not spectacular in any fashion. Cracks ran up and down its faded gray facade, turning splinters into scabs. The doorknob was only round and bronze, no inlays, no locks, only the handle.

Kresk opened the door, swinging it outward as it creaked with aged moans and pains. True to his memory, Robin was beholden to a set of stairs that led into darkness. But they seemed…different somehow. The set he recalled went up, like into some forgotten attic in a lonesome home, while these stairs called for him to descend into the murk. The Fire Demon walked in, Raven following. The young cambion held the door open for her companions as Robin, Cyborg, Starfire, and Garfield all entered the stairway. Walking in, Raven closed the door, its clicking lock a parrot chewing on a hard nut.

Farther down the stairs, Kresk was waiting. He had lit a fireball and held it in his hand. Starfire ignited a bolt, and Robin and Cyborg were quick to draw their flashlights. Raven needed no illumination; daughter to the Prince of Shadows, she could pierce the darkness easily now. The old demon stood there for a minute, staring above them, before he asked, "Do you realize what've you just done?"

"No." Robin harshly answered. He didn't feel like being a pawn to another one of the demon's tirades about humanity. But the Fire Demon instead explained, "You have just taken your first steps into another reality. Come on, this is just the curtain raiser." The party marched forward, following the two lower planar residents of the troupe. After a while, small candles began to light their way. Each one was in a little square nook on the stone wall, tiny corpses in the sarcophagi with the last lights of life. There was a light ahead, a dim light, but a light nonetheless. And more than one of the Titans couldn't help but wonder if this was the light at the end of the tunnel. Out here, in other worlds, who knew what was what?

The lot emerged from the tunnel to find-

Stairs. Hundreds upon thousands of millions of stairs and stairways. It didn't seem possible to fit that many stairs into one scope, but here they were. Up stairs, down stairs, side stairs, no stairs, stairs like spider webs, stairs made _of_ spider webs, metal stairs, wood stairs, plastic stairs, stone stairs, organic stairs, energy stairs, stairs made of pure glowing magic, stairs that stared with headless eyes, stairs of every shape and fashion that the mind could conceive of and record, and most definitely beyond that. There were a few interruptions: tunnels that seemed to cover certain stairways, landings, doors, and even windows, but it was clear that these were viruses in this domain. There was light, somehow. There was no sun or moon, only the occasional radiance from a torch or candle or flashlight or lantern and lamp, but these seemed only to be so that the stairs might further their own designs.

The congregation progressed, taking a right on a copper veranda cross-roads. Looking ahead, Cyborg could see that Kresk was reading one a small map that he had pulled from the tube that Ignorance gave him. The automaton was not comforted when he could hear the demon subtly growl and go, "No! No! That'll lead us straight into a nest! The males alone are over four feet long at the stinger…"

"Can we stop for just _one minute?!_" Beast Boy finally bellowed in retaliation. Although they were silent, Cyborg and Robin concurred. Raven and Starfire said nothing: they had been floating the whole time, all though the young Tammeranian occasionally walked out of sympathy for her land-bound companions. Kresk, cattle herder to the beasts, ordered, "No! It hasn't even been that long! Now come on, we don't want the lillendi to catch us."

"The what now? Do they work for Azmo-demon?" Cyborg asked. Kresk shuddered out, "Asmodeus. For the last time it's Asmodeus…"

"I thought the lillendi were just rumors, or planeswalker tales getting mixed up about mariliths and lillends?" Raven asked. Kresk, throwing off the vomiting sensation in his stomach from the mention of the Adversary, passed to his apprentice, "No one knows what the lillendi are, exactly. Just because they look like mariliths without so many arms doesn't mean they have any connection. Woman above and snake below is actually a fairly common template. The current theory is that they might be fallen lillends from Yggradsil, or possible even hybrids of mariliths and lillends made by some greater power. I only know two concrete things about them: they think of themselves as the guardians of the Infinite Staircase, and I don't intend to know anything else out. Now let's move! You've had time to fill your disgusting human windsacks…"

At that, the Fire Demon moved forward, with or without the Titans. Raven rolled her eyes and pursued. The other Titans, with no other choice, went along. The changeling turned into a parrot and rested himself on Starfire's shoulder as she hovered along. Cyborg grew curious. A product of construction himself, one of his hidden joys was engineering, and this conglomeration of stairs was a marvel. He asked out loud, more to himself than anybody, "Just what is this place?" Without looking back, Kresk droned, "Weren't you listening? This is the Infinite Staircase. It's one of the biggest inter-planar road ways imaginable, after the Astral Plane."

"Well, why didn't we use that? It couldn't involve this much walking…"

"Let's just say I pissed off one Gith too many last time I was there. Besides, the Lady isn't too keen on letting the Silver Void touch the City of Doors. She just doesn't want that much spare belief and mind around, you know?"

"No."

"Neither do I. Just roll with it."

"But why is it here? Who built it, and how?"

"Can't answer you those questions. I can guess at the 'why': probably as a fast means of getting around the planes. This way whoever built it could avoid the Astral and portals. How they did it? I don't know. But I guess, like most dimensions, it just keeps growing, putting its roots into fresh soil. Listen, have you ever been to some fantastic place, somewhere so daft and wonderful that it would be impossible to replace?"

"Plenty of times."

"And when you were there, did you see a door, any kind of door, that just seemed…enchanting? Maybe a window out of place, or a cellar trap your grandmother told you not to open? And you just knew that _something_ was behind there, something whimsical and scary all at the same time. And it called out to you, called you to open it and follow wherever led because you just had to know, but you didn't because it was only a strange door. Chances are, it was nothing. But maybe it was a portal to the Infinite Staircase, because what could be more bigger and stranger than reality?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about…"

"Nobody does until they see it for themselves. The point is, it just keeps growing. Who built it? Nobody knows. The lillendi are only the guardians of the Stair, although they are loathe to admit it. They actually appeared 300 years _after_ the Staircase was discovered and officially noted as a planar pathway, and even then they only began to pour in as hearsay from planewalkers who frequently used the Stair. So, it's just another big planar mystery, like who planted Yggradsil or where some of the Titans are. It's something worth thinking about, but no one really wants to solve it. Ah, and here we are…I think."

Kresk halted the Titans as they came to a square platform. In front of them, and to the left and right, were doors. Flanking the door in front of them was a grand marble dual-staircase further leading down, gold floral handrails and red carpet in the center, all concluding with another platform that had yet more stairs and a solitary lamp-post. The doors on the Titan's current platform were really more large planks of wood with curving semi-circles as handles. Each door had a ring painted on it: going clockwork, the shades were yellow, silver, and purple. The Fire Demon muttered out, "Now according to the map, one of these leads to Sigil, but which?"

He walked over to the door with a purple ring on it. He opened the portal, and the Titans felt a blast of heat the likes of which had never been experienced flow from the entry. The demon squinted in the tornado blast, but was unaffected by the phlogiston. Beyond, he could see mountains of volcanoes, rivers and oceans of lava, and clouds of smoke raining ash upon the surface. A true hell-scape, but not the Hell itself: the Elemental Plane of Fire, representing reaction of matters in its most destructive form. In truth, the Elemental Planes were poorly named; they should have been named according to their states really. As such, they would be the Planes of Liquid (Water), Solid (Earth), Gas (Air), and Reaction (Fire). But these didn't have the archaic romance of the Roman element names, although clever spellcasters were not above conjuring chlorine or titanium elementals. Kresk closed the door and wiped the soot off his robes. Just as the Titans were getting over the flow of heat, the Fire Demon was already at the yellow door. He opened it, unleashing torrents of water on the platform, unceasing yet refreshing. Starfire was enjoying the feel of the streams on her feet, and even Cyborg seemed to heal from them. Kresk on the other hand…

"OH MERCIFUL GODS! IT'S HOLY WATER! IT'S FREAKING HOLY WATER! WHO THE HELLS MAKE A PORTAL TO OCEANIA?! I'LL RIP OUT THEIR FREAKING HEARTS! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOOOOPP!" The demon was now writhing in the growing pool that flowed off the edge of the platform. He was screaming and howling as his skin boiled and burned from the holy water. Raven didn't feel any pain, but the water was still unpleasant to her somehow. She formed a massive black hand, and pushed against the door against the waves, finally closing it with a last gush from the cracks. Kresk writhed on the ground, flopping like a fish and spitting out blood occasionally. His skin was melted in places, enflamed and warped in others. He stood up and took a swig from a flask that he withdrew from his robes. The sores went down a bit, and the demon breathed easier when he realized there was only one door left. He walked over to the silver port and grinned at the Titans, "Get ready for this."

Opening the door, the Arcanist of Fire revealed-

Nothing. There was a look of puzzlement and smug doubt from the Titans. Kresk fumed before stuttering, "Oh. Right. The keys." From a pocket, the demon withdrew two pieces of purple and yellow chalk. He drew respective circles connecting to the silver, forming a trinity of spheres. By the end, the chalk was dust in his hands. Radiating sheer delightful anticipation, the demon pushed against the door handle, opening the aperture and hissing, "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I give you…Sigil, City of Doors!"

* * *

Imagine reality. How does one describe reality? How does one wrap everything that is, has, or ever will be into description? How does one describe the heart of the multiverse, the pulse of all existences and worlds? How does one look at the flow of time and space in a descriptive way? How can anyone being begin to hope to describe that?

Is it like water? Is there a flow and ebb, washing flotsam and jetsam up onto the shore for idle hands to pick up and observe, for men to wonder at and speculate far away from that unknown element? Is there a shallow area, where bright creatures swim and cavort like quickened rainbows in the view of the warming sun? Is there a vastness, an infinite blue that seems deserted and hides the life that truly swarms it? Is there a deep, where horrible secrets and monsters lurk, far away from the light and norm?

Or is it like fire? The more that is fed to it, the greater it grows? Changing, shifting, dancing, lighting everything that stands around it? Does it hide nothing but in fact create vitality, in the process destroying construction? Does it forge blades and illumine dark places, bringing war and human contentment all at the same time? Is it burning away its life?

Perhaps it is like the earth? Does it contain insurmountable gems of raw beauty, waiting to be polished and chiseled for glory's sake? Is it fertile, growing the harvests and goods of this generation to feed the next? Does it crack open and gluttonously shift, uncaring of whatever constructed feeble homes on its bare skin? Does it never swerve, or only change so slow that none can see it?

Maybe it is air? Maybe it is constantly moving, a wispy torrent flowing through fingers and hair? No solid thing can catch it: it can be blocked and directed, but it will not obey, it will turn as it sees fit. Is this true? Is it a gentle breeze spreading dandelion seeds across the earth, to wherever they may go and prosper? Is it a hurricane, a destructive blast upon the worthless dirt?

Could it be death? Could everything seen be nothing more than creation made to perpetuate an inevitable decay? Is enjoyment nothing but watching the magnificent extinction, and sorrow confronting the truth that not even our gods are beyond it? Does the struggle for supremacy only carry on so that the strong may build an army of cannon fodder to halt the Son of Sin?

But if it is death, can it not also be life? Can it not be the constant frenzy of procreation? Can it not be the bursts of positive energy populating the earth and filling in the blank spaces? Is even destruction creation? Is even death life? Is a corpse really dead? It cannot be for the feasting orgy of worms and bacteria and insects thriving within it.

Reality is all of these things, for all of these things make quintessence, and quintessence is everything, and everything is reality. And everything, berk, can be found in Sigil, City of Doors.

The City of Doors rests in the Outlands, the plane of pure neutrality at the center of the multiverse. It has been argued that the multiverse is infinite and hence has no center, but this has never stopped anyone from saying that the Outlands are the center plane. In the middle of the Outlands stands the Spire, a column of stone infinitely high and populated by the rilmani, beings of pure neutrality. But despite the rather Swiss outlook, the Outlands is not some gray, colorless world of in-between. No, it is alive; it is a pallet on which every view from around has been splattered. And the epitome is Sigil. At the top of the Spire, Sigil revolves around the point like some great halo on a stupendous angel. In shape, it is not unlike a titanic tire: a hollow, tubular circular with the inner edge sliced out to see the sky, such as it is. Some believe that the multiverse is a great wheel, constantly spinning; the Spire is the axel, and Sigil represents the wheel. If it were to ever stop moving, so would reality. Of course, this is all hearsay. Sigil is not that different from any other city. It has crime, pollution, political scandal, taxes, gangs, suburbia, etc. But on every inch, every wall, every brick and mortar there is _something_. Because what makes Sigil unique is that it is where every other thing in oceanic reality crash into each other on a daily basis.

As Kresk seemed to dance through the door, pushing it heavily out of the way, the Titans caught their breath. Raven smiled as she saw the wonder spread on their faces. She remembered the first time that she came to Sigil. She journeyed here with Kresk and the other Arcanists not too long ago. And then, despite even her close ties to the planes, she was beholden to awe. She could still remember Edd's dumbfounded squeal as he found a copy of _Pseudomonarchia Daemon _just lying on the streets…

The sky was seemed to be in twilight, despite being noon. It was a violet color, with hints of purple on the low horizon. No one is completely sure how luminance works in Sigil: the sky just seems to change from day-light violet to night-time black throughout the day, making a full cycle. Hanging in the red sky, seeming to turn the city and the whole multiverse itself, a red star shined, so minute as to be unnoticeable.

That seemed to be the only constant feature of the Sigil's geography. The streets were strange, twitching and running in sometimes warped, crooked directions, and sometimes calm, unbendable straits. The buildings were of every kind and culture imaginable: pagodas, pantheons, stadiums, major domos, spheres, castles, forts, houses, mansions, shacks, churches, cathedrals, synagogues, mosques, restaurants, booths, shops, squares, diamonds, pyramids, temples, mountains, tanks, tunnels, factories, and these were only what the Titans could see going down the street. The rocks, woods, and metals seemed to be kind of every sort, from veined marble to mud bricks. Whatever had been available had been used. Every art, every architecture, every style and strain was employed with fervor. If it could be, if it shouldn't be, if it was, chances are that Sigil has or had it. And if it doesn't…it probably wasn't worth finding in the first place.

But the residents were the real spectacle. There was no average, no norm to the busy sentients walking among the streets. Angels walked next to demons, while devils bartered with modrons. Inevitables tracked halfling thieves with the assistance of formian soldiers. Dwarves toiled in smithies, elves sewed clothing next to giant spiders, and living constructs quaffed down buckets of oil at bars. An earth elemental had paused to purchase stone from a quarry, and was stuffing it into what might be called its face. Tubes and pipes moved along, below, and above the busy streets, depositing merfolk, Deep Ones, Kuo Toa, and water elementals to move about. In what little sky there was, harpies and tengu flew with gnome sky-ships and mages. Efreeti moved with salamander guards, selling flame-spider silks to a half-dragon merchant. Curious beings made up of pure entropic and positive energy played a game with each other, one touching an object to animate it, then timing the other to see how fast the construct could be ended. But it wasn't just mythical and mystical beings walking amongst Sigil. Extraterrestrials almost as varied as the immortals shuffled and slithered to and fro in the city, beings that invented the hyper-drive talking to cave-men and Neanderthals for flint and steel. The Grays, with their bulging heads and soulless eyes, moved in robes and jumpsuits, perfectly in tune with the other residents of Sigil. The Grays had actually discovered extra-planar travel only 158 years ago, which was surprising for a race that had perfected flight before the wheel. Crustacean, lizard, and ape creatures were also present, as well as several organics and inorganics that could have passed for human or any of the above. Yet it was clear that these beings lived on the Material Plane on different worlds, and only came to Bazaar of the Gods the same way the Grays did: with millennia of speculation that such a place might even exist, millennia more proving it, and centuries to get here.

All this was Sigil. Every star, ever planet, every reality, country, and creed from the multiverse, all gathered into one place for holy, unholy, axiomatic, anarchic, entropic, and procreative communion. Standing in the street, fresh from a door in front of a weapons shop that sold everything from laser cannons to bone clubs, the Titans minds were nearly overwhelmed in unadulterated vis major. Starfire breathed out, "Glorious."

"Whe- where are we?" Cyborg asked. Kresk laughed, "Didn't you hear? This is Sigil!"

"The City of Doors." Raven responded in almost unison. "The Lady's Ward."

"The Cage."

"Home." The Fire Demon ended. Beast Boy, frozen in reverie, was abruptly shoved. When he looked to his side, he saw nothing. But when he looked down, he was able to catch a dwarf shoving him out of the way, growling, "Stupid Primers! Get the Hells out of the way!" The dwarf was in surprisingly modern gear, a leather apron over a brown T-shirt with runes etched around the collar and tennis shoes under his metal fald. He was carrying a sack in one hand, a hammer in the other, while a blaster was strapped to his belt. The Titans stared at him as he left, and the changeling finally asked, "Was that a dwarf?"

"Yes, yes it was." Kresk smugly responded. Garfield snorted, "Man, this is turning in to Lord of the Rings. The next thing you know, we're gonna' have to deal with halflings –"

"Hey! You got a problem with halflings?! You got an issue with us?!" By pure fluke, three halflings, each one barely reaching Beast Boy's lower thigh, were now staring up at him. The addressing one had blue eyes, ruffled brown hair, a pug face, and was dressed in leather pants, a leather vest, and a gray wife-beater. His two companions had metal breastplates over their chests, as well as small helmets. Unlike common perceptions, all the halflings had proportionate feet encased in shoes, the aggressor in what may have been some planar variant of Nike (actually sponsored by the goddess Nike), while the other two wore metal boots. The small being was still railing, "What?! You got something to say?! Ain't you ever seen a halfling before?! Am I a FREAK to you, prick?!" Beast Boy stammered, "What? Dude, no! It's nothing like that! I swear! Well, yes, I mean, no, but…"

"Come on Tib, he's not worth the trouble." One of the armored halflings motioned. He tried to grab Tib's arm, but the violent little man hallooed as he pulled his limb away, "No no no no! I want to hear this! Then what is it, jackass?! Am I funny, do I amuse you?! Do I make you laugh?! Tell me when to stop!"

"Hey! Just leave me alone! Freakin' hobbit…" One of the armored halflings gasped. The other stopped trying to hold Tib back and looked at Garfield with disgust and shock. If Tib was angry before, than he was rabid now. His eye was twitching as his face heated up, and a large vein pumped on his temple. The halfling snarled out, "What did you call me?" Beast Boy was nervous. It was evident that he had just done something wrong, but he wasn't sure what. Apprehensively, he answered, "Um…Hobbit?"

The next few seconds were a blur. In what Kresk would later regard as the funniest sneak attack he had ever seen, Tib launched his fist straight at Beast Boy's groin. Kneeling over in pain, the halfling grabbed the shape changer by the collar and punched Garfield in the mouth, knocking him to the ground. Tib hopped on to the fallen Titan's neck and started hitting him even more, choking him with his thighs while the enraged halfling screamed out, "WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?! WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?! THAT IS OUR WORD! THAT IS **OUR WORD**! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! YOU HAVE **NO! GOD! DAMNED! RIGHT!** DON'T YOU EVER!** CALL! ME! THAT! AGAIN!**" All the while, the other two halflings started kicking Beast Boy while he was down, and Kresk laughed so hard a bloody tear came to his eye. The other Titans were still in shell shock from the situation, except for Starfire who screamed out, "No! Stop! Please, do something!" Raven's only response to her friend's request was to stand still and blandly ask, "No. Stop. You monsters. Think of the children."

Tib and his gang stopped after a while. Walking away, one of them spit on the now crippled Beast Boy. As Tib was about to depart, he ran back one more time and kicked Garfield in the chest. Clutching his side, the changeling sputtered out, "Was…was I just gang banged by halflings?"

"Garfield Mark Logan, welcome to Sigil!" Kresk laughed, feeling that Beast Boy's true introduction to infinity warranted his full name. Looking at his gloves, Beast Boy saw blood. He coughed, "I think one of them shanked me…"

"Walk it off, pussy. We have a cab to catch." The Fire Demon said. Beast Boy shambled up, Starfire and Robin helping him to his feet. Raven walked over and placed her hands in front of the changeling, spreading light across his wounds to heal him. Cyborg, on the other hand, ran up to Kresk as he stood by the street trying to hail a cab. The half-construct quizzed, "Seriously, were those hob- I mean, halflings? Like, Tolkien and everything?"

"Pfft. Don't be stupid! Like it's that hard to make magic rings…" The Fire Demon snorted. Cyborg still begged, "Then how did he know? Was he like, secretly a wizard or something?"

"No, but I think he may have been an Illuminati."

"Then how?"

"Simple: Dreams. All life shares the Plane of Dreams. Sometimes, some of the dreamscapes crack and kind of…leak out. And when they leak into other men's dreams, seep into their half-consciousness, those men know about something else's life. It happens more often than you think. It's just that most people forget. But people like Tolkien, or Lovecraft, Poe, and Bradbury – They take the pieces of the puzzle, and click them all into place. For some it's a gift, others insanity, and in the case of Mr. Poe all of the above with a lot of help from opium and ale. It seems to have disappeared recently, though, this dream leaking. Maybe it has something to do with the Sandman. Just don't think all fiction is based on extra-dimensional fact. Most of it's just crap. Take Tolkien for example. Sure, he pieced together halflings, dwarves, elves, and orcs, but everything else was all him. Nothing but his imagination. Because the thing about that puzzle I was telling you about? You make up most of the pieces."

"So, does that mean Harry Potter is based off something?" Beast Boy, now patched up, asked. The other Titans had come over and had been listening in on Kresk's monologue of perception. The demon snarled, "Gods no!"

A gnome crier walked by, holding periodicals and shouting, "Extra! Extra! Tom Riddle versus Board of Education case set for tomorrow! Trial of the century! Sorcerers in wizard schools? Don't miss it!" The Titans looked at Kresk, who only blankly explained, "What? Alright, that's just coincidence. It's a very common name."

The Fire Demon continued to try and hail a cab. He contorted his fingers, moved his face, snorted, barked, and made every other sound imaginable for a variety of species, growing even more aggravated as he went down the list. It would have been comical, if not for the Titan's own growing impatience. At last, Kresk succeeded in drawing a taxi. "Finally!" the demon snarled out. Beast Boy looked down the street to what was coming, sating his feline curiosities. Pulling a large cart at a break-neck speed was…a centaur. Of course. Beast Boy was somewhat annoyed by this. Couldn't reality downplay the phantasmagoria crap for a couple of minutes? Why a centaur? Why not just a horse or some kind of bus? But no, it had to be a centaur. Because this was Sigil, City of Doors, and anything else might just have been a slap in the face to its guests.

The centaur in question was a large male, standing eight feet tall and with broad shoulders. His dark skin was calloused, while his stern chin and pug nose were in a perpetual frown. His beady brown eyes were concealed under a mass of wild black hair, which also seemed to cover his chest, arms, and back. He wore what might have been called clothing; it was difficult to say with centaurs. On top of his head was a hat that could have passed as an ogre's soup bowl, and a denim vest was straining over his broad chest. His equine half was just as impressive; a Clydesdale with black and white fur. He dragged a large cart behind by the poles on front. It looked like it belonged more on a farm than anything, but it was painted a kind of blue, and in the middle of the sides were small doors and ramps for the passengers to crawl in to on. Emblazoned on the door was an androgynous human face, but it was a minor detail of the grotesque: surrounding the visage was a headdress of blades, a frill of swords, a crown of daggers.

As Robin looked at the figure, the centaur finally barked, "Hey! You getting on or what? I ain't got all day." The equally surly Kresk growled back, "Yeah, yeah. Just take us to the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Martin Luther King Boulevard."

"Pennsylvania Avenue and…" Cyborg wondered. "I'll explain on the way. Just get going. Centaurs can get a little testy if they don't have their afternoon beer break." Kresk said in a sotto voice. The Titans went first, sitting on the benches that the carriage provided. Raven was last, reserving room for Kresk. The Fire Demon asked the centaur before he got on, "How much we owe you so far?" The manimal replied, "Fifteen gold."

"You take drow platinum?"

"What city?"

"Necrachnoz-deuce, sixty sixth layer of the Abyss."

"Let me see." Kresk pulled out some shining eight sided coins and handed them to the cabby. The centaur smelled one, then bit into it. Suspiciously, he rewarded, "It'll do." Kresk dropped two of the coins into the driver's hands, and then got on the cart himself. The vehicle strained under the demon's weight, and he took a seat next to Raven as the centaur began to move. Trotting through the streets, the Titans passed numerous shops, office buildings, and taverns, all the while accompanied by equally strange modes of transportation for certain residents. Robin disbelievingly asked, "Pennsylvania Avenue and Martin Luther King Boulevard?" Kresk coughed after passing a chlorine elemental, "Yes, well, it's one of those un-official rules of the multiverse, you know? Every city in existence has a street called Pennsylvania Avenue and Martin Luther King Boulevard. Whether they were named after the streets or the streets were named after them, I can't say."

"Let me guess; another coincidence, right?" Cyborg sassed. Kresk moved his shoulders, shrugging, "Maybe. You'll find the weirdest thing out here is just how familiar things seem."

"Like how our ride speaks English?" Beast Boy said. "And do not forget the violent little men we met previously." Starfire added. Beast Boy rubbed the cut on his arm and crossed his legs, changing the subject to, "Yeah, what's up with that? Is there some weird spell going on?"

"Not necessarily." Raven elaborated, "Although the _tongues_ spell is incredibly useful here." Kresk dove in, furthering, "They're speaking Common. It's a trade language, developed either at the beginning of time or the last language ever. Either way, it's regarded as the easiest language of all time to understand, so much that it's rarely ever translated. In short, it's either the root of all common languages or the fusion of them."

"So, English is one of those by-products?" Cyborg asked. Kresk went on, "Yes, along with Latin, Spanish, French, Sanskrit, Greek, Italian, Bushmen, Maori, and every other language on the planet, or probably any planet you've ever made contact with. See, everyone who hears Common adds their own accents, dialects, and those things to it. And it just keeps getting added on over time until it looks nothing like Common, and the roots are lost. But listen to enough languages, and you can catch on pretty fast."

"There are, at any given time in Sigil, over 146,000 dialects in used, with almost as many alphabets. If you don't know Common and you come to Sigil, chances are you can find someone who speaks a dialect close enough to yours that they can probably teach you. If you can't, then you're in some seriously deep shite. What I'm basically saying is that you understand Common based on how many languages you already know. I assume you understand Common, down to the accents, because you are an intelligent-" Kresk stopped here and surveyed the Titans. After a moment of doubtful study, he looked at Raven and placed his hand on her shoulder, continuing, "Because you've been around a very intelligent young woman long enough to pick up some knowledge."

"So…why doesn't this 'universal language' used on Earth?" Robin asked. The Fire Demon pointed out, "Too small."

"What, a planet isn't big enough?"

"Not by a long shot. In order for a society to adopt Common fully, they have to be part of a cosmic outlook. They have to realize that their world is barely a tourist attraction, little more than a roadside stall in eternity. They have to grasp that things like race and home-language are such petty things on that scale that if they cling to them Social Darwinism will knock them out faster than you can say Stokes Monkey Trial. You need a government that spreads across, galaxies, universes, dimensions even before Common can be introduced and used fully."

"So we can't use the root of all languages because we're too stupid and arrogant?"

"I never said Common was the root of all languages. Hell, give your planet time and it ought to develop Common by itself. Languages will absorb one another, form and simplify until where there once was hundreds, there's now just a few dozen. Common will just kind of boil to the surface and you'll all be ready for trans-galactic economics. Provided your moron naked monkey race can master the hyper-drive or Astral travel. See, I'm with most people. I think Common is what happens when you mix a bunch of unique languages together and master it by necessity. It's not usually the last language a world develops, but it's close. Of course, if you speak any other base language, like Draconic, Giant, or Elfish, well, than you have to start at the very beginning."

"It still sounds too convenient. You sure it isn't a spell?"

"Alright, how about I put it to you this way: It's a colossal multiversal plot device so a bunch of people can all say, 'You're different, and I don't like you for it' to each other with clarity. It's a wrench in the gears, a lingual _deus ex machina_, a cant cabal, a vocabulary tract. Someone, somewhere didn't feeling like bothering with having to learn how everyone else speaks and just cut to the chase. There. That's it. I don't think I can make it any plainer."

There was a moment of silence as the Titans pondered what Kresk had just said. It was Starfire who asked, "So, who is it that pulls these strings?"

"God." The centaur said, in response to the entire conversation. Kresk snapped, "Hey! No one asked you, alright?!" The centaur only muttered, "This used to be a people business, but now I just don't know…" Kresk tired, "Our driver has a point, though. Out here, with deities like Vishnu and Odin floating around, you're probably wondering where the Big Cheese himself is? Well, no one knows. Hells, no one is sure he even exists. And if he does, what does it matter? There are five thousand other deities out here too. No one has actually spoken to God, and that entire 'Without faith I am nothing' crap is worthless out here on the Outer Planes. See, this is where the gods actually LIVE, and if you can't see or talk to one, then they're probably not worth worshipping. Most of the time, God is used as an excuse for all those questions so big no one else could have done them, like aliens or the government back in your world. Crap, not that many people actually believe in God; look in the next planar index of religions you find. He's generally numbered under 'cult' or 'abstract concept'."

There was a lot of quiet then. Not the awkward kind, but the thinking kind, where one could practically feel the thoughts and philosophies running through the air. Robin just looked stunned, and snorted. Raven asked, "What?" The pugilist replied, "Just thinking of my mom. Back in the circus, they had this little prayer service every Sunday morning. Not many went. Life of wanderers, you know? But she always went, every Sunday, and prayed. I didn't have much head for the stuff and afterwards…I stopped believing at all. But one of the few things I remember about her was her faith. Now look at me. Sitting in a cart with a demon and a centaur, all this incredible stuff and there is no God. It just seems like some big anti-climax."

"I never said there was no God." Kresk said. Raven continued, "Only that nobody knows. Not arch-mages, not the Arch-Angel Zaphkiel, or the Lady of Pain, or even…(_Raven looked at Kresk. The Fire Demon covered his ears and closed his eyes.)_ not even Asmodeus. And if the Devil doesn't know if there is a God, then who does?" More closure couldn't have been possible from that question, as is often the case with such ourobouros answers.

The conversation ended just as the centaur pulled up to a stoplight. It was one of the proto-typical versions, which is to say a lamppost with three different shades and a sign going in out to tell the driver's discretion. There were numerous kinds of writing, though. One of the alphabets, near the bottom, was recognizable as a form of Sanskrit, and another towards the top was written in runes (Dwarven, of course). The centaur stood and waited for the light to change to the 'go' signal, but as he was doing so, two rather unwanted guests drove up next to him.

Riding on a cart pulled by a large velociraptor, two Yuan-Ti, both nearly identical looked at the centaur. Their blank expressions were only more disturbing than their snake-like faces, with slit nostrils and yellow eyes. The centaur moved his eyes and loudly bellowed out, "Oh, crap." Speaking turn, the Yuan-Ti seemed to narrate, "Truly, this is a fortuitous circumstance."

"Here, on the streets of Sigil, Siryiell Grass-Fist, once a great champion of the street-racing circuit, is now little more than a common pack mule."

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"Like Hells I have!" Siryiell shouted. Beast Boy sensed something bad was about to happen, but like the other Titans didn't have time to get off. Looking at like they could will it, the centaur and the Yuan-Ti stared at the stoplight. In a flash, the light was green, and the racers were off. There was a jolt, knocking the Titans back as they held on to the cart. The racers ran forward, the Yuan-Ti already gaining the lead. Despite his encumbrance, Siryiell was keeping remarkable pace with them. Diving between street-goers and other modes of transportation, the two snake men still held their advantage. The centaur howled and shouted like a rampaging beast, alerting all to move. And those who didn't were shoved aside like a trees in a hurricane wind. Slithering onto the sidewalks, the Yuan-Ti forged their own trail out of street-goers. Unable to correspond, the centaur moved ever faster, running through, literally through, a cart selling exotic produce. Fruits, vegetables, and seeds rained down on the Titans, splattering both putrefying and delightful scents on to them. The centaur had taken the brunt of the damage, covered in slime and seed, but he did not care. Drunk on rage and revenge, he was determined on his victory.

From whence did centaurs come? There are theories. The centaurs commonly dealt with are sylvan creatures of the wood, caretakers of nature and life. Some grow to be fighters, others philosophers and mages, but they always seem temperamental until they are angry. Then they are a whirlwind of hooves and arrows, spears and fists. Their gods are similarly nature-oriented, but a balance between the gentle and the brute. Even the fallen dark centaurs that abide in dead forests are at least minorly civilized. But these are evolutions of the true centaurs, of the brutish thugs and barbarians who rape, drink, and plunder lands at will. These centaurs serve no god, no abstract such as nature. They were born from Centaurus, the first centaur, son of Ixion and the phantom cloud woman Nephele, formed in the image of the goddess Hera. In his raw lust for the Queen of the Gods, Ixion ravished the apparition, and it gave birth to Centaurus, who roamed among humanoids and mares alike, spawning the centaurs, creatures who owe their very existence to violence, lust, and drunkenness. These were the true centaurs, the ones who refused to evolve and civilize and worship, and this was the blood that flowed in Siryiell's veins.

His muscles pulsed, his legs strained to move faster and drag the cart. The centaur was unaware that he had passengers, or clothes, or even where he was. All that counted was to beat the two Yuan-Ti and then snap their necks. But he was losing ground? Why? Something was dragging him! He was no pack mule! He was no errand boy! Instinct told him that the only things that should ever be on his back were nymphs, fauns, and the wind. And so, Siryiell Grass-Fist let go of the Titans, and burst forward. He would charge in front of the Yuan-Ti in a few moments, knock the whole carriage down with his hooves, and then trample them to death. For that was all there was to see.

But among all this primordial melodrama and revenge, the Titans were in a rather sticky situation. They had not realized just how far the centaur had dragged; the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Martin Luther King Boulevard was a quarter across the city. And they were in the worst place imaginable to be lost. They were in the Hives.

Poverty is a multiversal constant, usually stemming from its counterparts death and taxes. Every city has its downtown, it hellhole, its crap shacks, that place where the police don't go out of fear for their lives. Crime and malevolence run rampant, humanity is closer to the dirt from where it came than ever, and simple charity is a luxury none can afford. Will anybody help? No: to the common eye, it is beyond redemption. Scratch away the surface, and one will still find that to be the exact truth. There are no houses, only a collection of sturdy boxes clinging to the streets for dear life. Truly, such a place is a desert, with food coming only under the rarest of circumstances, and the water a thick brown sludge. Such a place should breed thieves and deviants, but what would they steal, and who from? Only callousness is born here, and doom. The question every night is not "Where will I find food tomorrow?" but instead, "Which one of them will starve tonight?"

The urban jungle? Hardly. This is the shit that the first urban jungle had grown from and deprived all the nutrients from until it was dead soil. And when the first jungle burned, the next jungle grew, and the next. And even though it was barren, every now and then individuals try to harvest the scraps and remind the world of this brown spot of decay on the world. All this and more was the Hives, the poor quarter of Sigil. This was poverty incarnate.

The stench was anathema to everything in creation. The Titans covered their noses as they peered through air so polluted it almost manifested as a thick brown smog. They were standing on what was a road only by the barest minimums, which is to say a path of refuse and mud weaving through shacks and boxes. The buildings were made out of…things: objects and trash from all around, and no high quality waste, no rotten wood or planks of iron. No, the pathetic habitats were made from paper and faltering mud, reinforced by the barest frames of architecture. Beast Boy started to gag, his high sense of smell already overwhelmed.

Robin coughed, "Where are we?"

"The Hives. Watch your back." Responded Kresk. Out of the dust, beings emerged. Some were naked; others were wrapped in rags and skins. But every one of them was sick, and each one was thin as death. They looked at the Titans with ravenous greed. Cyborg alone could fetch enough money to leave, or at least his stripped armor could patch up some walls. Raven, Robin, and Starfire were veritable buffets of resources, what with gems and rubber and metal and fine cloth. Beast Boy was strangely unnoticed; his simple outfit didn't give off much, but his shoes seemed sturdy enough. And Kresk, well…Kresk was fat enough to feed the whole street with enough rationing.

The mob crawled and lurched forward, blocking alleys and forming a ring around the Titans. Robin, horrified and ready to fight, bid, "What are they?"

"Don't you recognize your own kind, boy? These are humans. Your species is so like cockroaches: this is just what happens when they can be pushed to the extreme." Still closer they moved, and the Titans called on their defenses. It was easy to see that the throng was weak, but it was their numbers that was worrying. There were dozens of men, women, and even children moving forward, of every shape and color. Just as a blind man snarled at Starfire, the sound of a cracking whip was heard. Once, twice, three times, and the sound of moans came from the back of the herd. Dispersing, there was the sick yelling and screeching of, "Move it! Move it! What the Hell is all the commotion you worthless vermin?! Get out of our sight or I'll wear your skins tomorrow!" Almost as quick as they had come, the groups left, crawling back to their perches and houses.

In their place, a band of six men now stood. They stood five feet tall at the average, and appeared to be a little better fed than the people from the swarm. They wore various cheap armors, padded, leather, and studded leather. Some had cloaks clipped with faux brooches, and their britches were cloth, although the one screaming had a leather fold over his legs. They were equipped with cheap swords and daggers, and some wore decaying shoes. And that was when the first strange details came to notice. The ones with bare feet had clawed, scaled toes, and gray fur running up their legs. Coming from behind them were long, naked tails. And the final pieces of the puzzle were the rodent heads on several, including the leader.

He stalked his way to the Titans, cleansing his paws, "Terribly sorry about that my good sirs and madams! Dreadful berks for greeting, don't ya' know?" His whiskers were worn and his teeth were yellow, and a patch of his lower jaw had been ripped off. Continuing with his formalities, the were-rat continued, "My name is Rui. Once again I must apologize for my wards atrocious behavior. They really got no right, but they do get desperate without sunlight."

"And what is it you…do?" Starfire asked, almost afraid of an answer. Rui smiled and pointed to a slightly less shabby, larger building behind him, expressing, "I run the fine establishment behind myself and my boys. A quality gambling hall and market for the discriminating customer, catering to higher-ups here in the Hives. If you would like to come inside for a drink, it's only half-price for such deviant behaviors."

"How do you manage a business here? Money looks like it would be worth more as a plate than a dime from where I'm standing." Kresk snorted. Rui startled, "Oh, well, you see not all of us are such heathens. Many of us have a better lot, and even receive a few coppers a week when we can find the job. We certainly don't live in the lap of luxury like the berks in the Marble Query a few doors down, but we at least have a home and a few fires for warmth."

"Then what's their deal?" Kresk asked, pointing his thumb to a starving child now gnawing on a stick. Rui balefully answered, "Oh, slaves, sir. Won't you come in for a drink?"

"Slaves?" Cyborg asked, growing incensed. "Oh, yes milord. We need workers to man the heating and the machines, and since we can't pay them…we just let the sword takes its course."

"And what about them?! What about everyone else?! The least you can try and do is get them some clothes! Would that be too hard?! Would a little bread and water kill you?!" Rui's eyes started to turn, and his face curled into a snarl as his heckles raised, and he hissed, "Listen, primer. Just back down now, if you know what's good for you. In a breath, I could have these slime crawling all over you, and then I'LL be the one to deal with. You don't know what it's like here! You don't know what I've made here! What do you want me to do?! And with what?!"

"Let. Them. Go." Cyborg calmly said. He raised his sonic canon to the were-rat's face. The lycanthrope only grinned before calling, "BOYS! SPINES!" The remaining members pulled out repeating hand-crossbows, each dart layered with a slimy, black filth. Any of the were-rats that had been wearing human form now abandoned it in favor of their rodent faces. Rui himself jumped back with his own set, and kept his whip at the ready. Kresk had already raised his hands and fizzled to Cyborg, "You just had to do the right thing, didn't you? Oh no, we were gonna' get out and be on our way to Hell, but oh noooo, you had to do the right thing."

And then, as the were-rats readied their crossbows, a trumpet call came down the lane. One of the younger were-rats whipped his tail furiously, squeaking to Rui, "Boss! Boss, it's…it's…"

"Oswald." Rui snarled. The trumpet played a tune as it grew louder and was down the street. Marching was a small group of Hivers and other unfortunate street-folk, yet they wore trash and bits of metal to mimic a noble's attire. Leading them was a proud and royal man. He stood roughly six feet tall, and his black, dirty hair wisped down his shoulders. His almond eyes were a shade of hazel, and his chocolate skin was weathered and scarred. One of his boots was open, his shirt was urine yellow, and his voluminous brown coat seemed to be more like a robe or a cloak. He tossed his green and purple scarf over his shoulder like it was a shawl, adjusted his crown made of bone, and signaled to a member of his company.

A gnome dressed entirely in paper mache full plate stepped forward and unfurled a toilet paper scroll, declaring, "Disperse, ye peasants and brigands! Make way! Make way! Make way for the Emperor Oswald, the Beggar King of Sigil!"

Oswald stepped forward, examining the situation. Rui snapped, "Get lost, Oswald! This ain't none of your business! Just head back to your little dock back in the Marble Query, and this won't have to get ugly…" Oswald looked contemptuously at Rui. He raised his scepter (a goblin skull on a plain stick, with the word 'OSWALD' carved on to the skull), and proclaimed in an elegant yet mighty voice, "A rat would look at a king, and then try to sit on his throne? Nay, brigand! I say nay to you!"

Kresk was choking back tears of laughter (or disgust), and Beast Boy gulped, "That was just…wrong."

"Get lost, Oswald! Just 'cause you're crazy and you carry a big stick doesn't make you a king! It makes you a nut who belong with the Xaos in Limbo! Now scram!" Rui hissed again. Oswald lowered his scepter and stepped forward. By now the slaves were peering out of their shambles and shacks, staring at the mighty King of Beggars. Oswald raised his scepter into the air with a stiff arm and shouted, "Hear ye! Hear ye! Whoever can slay this blackguard, shall be honored into the court of Oswald, and gain the ownership of the rat's guild and gambling hall! So do I proclaim!"

It sounded stupid beyond words; even Starfire couldn't believe such an optimistic falsity. But looking at Oswald, into his handsome face and at his signs of office…it seemed feasible, even to her. And to the slaves, it was canon. They charged forward out of their huts, all kinds like a locust swarm, ignoring the Titans and Oswald. Rui and the other were-rats shot their crossbow bolts, killing more than a dozen street-folk, but even the bolts couldn't last forever. The mob swarmed more and more, crushing and beating each other to get to the lycanthropes. There was the sound of swords being drawn and being stabbed into brittle human flesh, but it couldn't halt the whole throng. Rui shouted and screamed with his companions as they were drowned under a diseased ocean. After a few nightmarish minutes, it was over. The people dispersed, and Rui was nowhere to be found. Bodies lay in the road, but no one sought to collect them.

Starfire wondered why she hadn't been tempted to help Rui. She, least of all, had no love for slavers, but nothing deserved to die like that. But staring at Oswald, she didn't want to help, didn't want to believe anything but what he said. He was a king, after all…

Oswald signaled again. A wild elf in false bishop clothing ran forward and sprinkled water and dust over the bodies, speaking gibberish that one could only assume was an attempt at Latin. When he was finished, the priest stepped back and let Emperor Oswald passed through the crowd to the back. One by one, in succession, the group followed him from front to back as their king found a new road for them to walk. A king should never sully his shoes with the flesh of the dead.

Flies started to buzz on the corpses, which even with their stab wounds and crossbow bolts sticking out of them looked peaceful. There was quiet before Cyborg finally said, "What. The. Hell?"

"He always has such a flare for the melo-dramatic. I have no doubt he is insane…the shadows tell me so." A voice came from behind the Titans. It was masculine, with a sharp effeminate undertone. The Titans turned around to face the latest intruder. They hadn't even noticed him until he spoke, or it, or she, or whatever it liked to be referred to. Standing there was…black. Not blackness, not evil, not darkness or night or anything that black might be symbolic of, but just the color black. And it seemed as if it had wrapped itself around a trim, humanoid form. The prompt jacket over the black button shirt was accentuated with a black tie. The black khaki pants only barely concealed black socks over black dockers. And on top of his head was a stylish, primp black fedora with a black band above the rim. Even the creature underneath was black: holding a black, crook cane were two, slender ebony hands, the fingernails oddly absent, as if they had been pulled off. Its face was…almost non-existent. All of its skin, from head to pointed chin to toe was polished obsidian, but its face was void-like. No nose, no eyes, no hair or eyebrows of any kind, just a thin mouth. And that was the one speck of any color other than black on the creature, its mouth. It was in a constant, petite grin, showing his ultimately alabaster, shark-like interlocking teeth. And the last feature of the creature's cranium was its ears: they were tall and exaggeratedly pointed so that they almost reached the being's fedora. And yet there were several features that only came to attention on closer inspection. The collar and tie around the monster's neck was unusually tight and concealing. Its left foot was actually a little longer than its right, while the jacket covering its arms was unusually padded.

It continued in its blade voice, "But then again, I talk to absences, so who am I to call Oswald insane?"

"Hey, aren't you that squatter that was shacking up in our apartment?" Kresk asked the phantasm. It turned its eye-less face to him and said, "Well, yes! I was! I'm so sorry about that. I do hope we can still be friends after that. What if I pay you the rent I owe you and –"

"Deal!" Kresk blurted out. The figment of black took out a packet from his coat, opened it, and dropped three platinum squares in Kresk's hand. "And for you…" The creature said, turning to Raven. The mage was quick to interject, "No thanks. It's not really mine yet, and honestly I don't care Mister…?"

"Shade. You can call me Shade. But I do like the Mister part." The being responded. Raven continued, "Well, 'Mr. Shade', thanks. But no thanks. We have to get moving. Our hellevator has already passed on and we have to find a new one..."

"Oh! A hellevator! So you're planning a trip to Baator? Well you can't go looking like that, now can you?"

"What do you mean?" The garishly colored Robin asked Shade. The creature went on to say, "Well, Hell is a very drab place, after all. All blacks and reds. You'll stick out like sore thumbs. But don't worry! Daddy Shade is here for you!" With four snaps of his fingers, a quartet of Shade clones appeared behind the thing in black. They each removed their own coats, spun them around in the air, and tossed them to the Titans. Before any one of the teenagers could catch the garments, the clones disappeared, leaving only the original Shade. Beast Boy gawked, "How did you do that?"

"Oh, my sweet boy, I never kiss and tell. Not on a first date anyway." As Shade said this, he dragged a finger along Garfield's cheek. Beast Boy looked like his eye was about to explode out of sheer awkward surprise, and Kresk was about to protest that the group needed to move before he realized a very simple mathematical formula:

Stupid + Random Male Sexual Advances Hilarity

As such, the tanar kept his mouth shut. Raven pleaded, "Look, thanks for the stuff, but we really need to get moving, and I doubt a hellevator is going be any easier to find. So I guess this is good-"

"There's a functioning one just three blocks from where we are standing this very moment. I could take you there if you like. I know this city like the back of my hand. All I need to do is just follow the music…"

Kresk realized something then with a gasp, "Ah! So you're the King of the Musical Underworld! I should have expected as much. One Street Lord is never far behind another."

"Oh, demon, you can read me like a book! I am that Shade, the one and only Lord of Sigil Sounds! All the music of the multiverse is at my disposal, as I am at its'!"

"But aren't you supposed to be a Gloom? One of those ultra-assassins that never make a sound? I've always wondered something; your species is supposed to be strong enough to kill demi-gods? So why does the Lady let you stay here? You could probably start your own cult, if you wanted to."

"I'm here because I stay on my best behavior. As long as I live to serve no one but Sigil, and myself I can live here. Certainly much better than that old retirement home, Union…" Shade said with disdain. "Hey! Ladies! We gonna' move or what?!" Cyborg finally said. Victor had apparently caught Kresk's impatience. Shade clapped his hands and laughed, "Quite right, my good tin man! We have to move fast, and the best doors are the alleys themselves. Follow me now! You don't mind if I sing along the way, do you?"

"But what are we to do of the dead around us?" Starfire concerned. The Gloom responded, "Oh, the Dustmen will take care of them. They're always looking for new bodies. In fact, a few have begun down the street." Sure enough, creaking along the road came a cart so rickety wet cardboard could have provided more relief. Pulling the shamble was an emaciated mule with a low hung head. A body limply fell from the back of the cart, and the vehicle halted its course. Two men in cowls got out, lifted the body up, and tossed it back. All the while, one of the cloaked figures muttered, "Lucky bastards…"

"Now enough dilly dallying! You all have to get on the road again! Ooh, I think I'll dance to that one…"

The Titans weren't exactly sure how they got to the hellevator, or how fast, or by what means. All they could remember was that Shade had lead them through back alley after back alley, all the while singing. But it wasn't the Gloom's own effeminate voice. No, it was a perfect replication of Willie Nelson. Don't ask how an extra-planar being knew about the song, or about Willie Nelson, don't even bother. All the music of creation was Shade's, and there was no cantrip, ballad, tune, whistle, or song the Gloom could not hum. And out of nowhere, the Gloom had a guitar, and then the music. But it wasn't created with instruments, it was made by Sigil. It was in the splashing of puddles, the punching of fists, the prayers and howls and begging all working in grand rhythm. And just one second, exactly one minute second after Shade was done, there was the Hellevator.

It gaped in a wall like a maw of some horrible beast, with open gate teeth and brick jaws. Above the entrance were words inscribed in gold:

_Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate._

The Fire Demon snorted, looking at the inscription, "Typical."

* * *

**Whoo! Now that was fun, wasn't it? First things first: If I offended you, sorry. Really, I am. Unless it was one of those, 'Wow, I didn't see that one coming' offenses, in which case, I'm not sorry. But if really hit a nerve on something crucial to you, I'm actually sorry. I don't like being offended, and I try to live by the Golden Rule. So, just in case, my bad. This took a freakish amount of long time, what with my vacation, graduation, and playing KotOR I and II (again). But, here we are. If you feel the need to flame or spam me, get it out of your system and go ahead. But take into consideration that some smart ass comments and random obscenities really aren't going to sway me. I'm still not really sure how God fits into the whole multiversal scene, so I'm gonna' go ahead and use a cheap tactic; everything is true all at once. Because I said so, that's why.**

**Because I'm the DM, that's why. And kudos if you got that reference. That means things are gonna' be a whole lot easier for you. **

**Oh, and don't forget to vote in the whole 'Raven Romance' poll thing on my profile page. Just a heads up... Jinx has the lead.**

**Yeah. Might wanna' get in there...**


	6. Hors D'oeuvres

"_Through me the way into the suffering city,_

_Through me the way to the eternal pain,_

_Through me the way that runs among the lost._

_Justice urged on my high artificer;_

_My maker was divine authority,_

_The highest wisdom, and the primal love._

_Before me nothing but eternal things were made,_

_And I endure eternally._

_Abandon every hope, ye who enter here."_

--Dante Aligheiri, _the Divine Comedy, Inf. III 1-9_

_"Written over the gate here are the words 'Leave every hope behind, ye who enter.' Only think what a relief that is! For what is hope? A form of moral responsibility. Here there is no hope, and consequently no duty, no work, nothing to be gained by praying, nothing to be lost by doing what you like. Hell, in short, is a place where you have nothing to do but amuse yourself."_

--George Bernard Shaw, _Man and Superman_

* * *

"What's it say?" Beast Boy asked the Fire Demon and the Gloom. Cyborg stepped forward, scanning the inscription with his prosthetic eye. It was a little known talent that Victor's cybernetic brain held an almost automatic translator for over two hundred languages. The half-construct muttered out, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

"Wow. Even I know that is a cliché." Starfire stated. Shade tricked out, "Oh no, not cliché my girl! Now it's a classic! That phrase is often put over portals to and in the Lower Planes. It's become somewhat of a house-warming phrase, like 'welcome home' or 'come in'. I can't imagine a devil's house without it. Oh, the shame…"

"Still, you would have thought somebody could have thought of _something new _to say." Kresk said. The gate truly was impressive. The iron grates of the door were widely criss-crossed, allowing a glance into the inside and its passengers while still leaving mystery behind. The metal frame around the postern was a twisting, warped thing. The gold plated inscription was on an embellished ribbon held aloft by two imps and the mouth of a satanic visage. Two more imps reached out with their tiny talons, holding aloft red lamps, seeming to burn eyes into the demonic face of the hellevator.

Shade clapped his hands together and sighed, "Ah, well, this is where I must depart, my darlings. I won't follow you any further on your little expedition. If you ever find yourselves back in the Cage, give me a ring. Just ask around, I'll find you. Now I'm off to see what condition my condition is in." As the Gloom departed, he looked back at the Titans (and dragged his ebony tongue across his teeth for Beast Boy, elating a distasteful shiver from the changeling). The King of the Musical Underworld adjusted his hat and walked away as a chorus of 'Yeah! Yeah! Oh yeah! What condition my condition is in!' followed from invisible voices. Beast Boy spat, "That guy creeps me out." To which Cyborg responded, "Yeah, but he sure has style."

Kresk grumpily herded the Titans into the hellevator. The interior ceased the image of a mouth for a roomier atmosphere. The floor was soft rosewood to suit the cloven hooves and claws of infernal residents. Light came from a cage-like lantern containing a floating ball of red flame. On the left side of the door was a plain, gilded lever. On the other side was a tablet with various Lower Planes named, each one noted by a ruby-like button. Various titles included the Abyss, Pandemonium, Gehenna, Nifleheim, Tarterus, Jigoku, Acheron, Hades, the Seven Cities of Mortal Sin, Sheol, the Plane of Negative Energy, Infernum, and of course, Hell.

The Fire Demon un-hesitantly pressed the button for Hell. Just as he was about to pull the lever and descend, a voice called out. Kresk quickly and furiously pressed the button to close the hellevator door, but the devilish device refused to close. A lone rakshasa entered, whiffing, "Thanks much." Kresk only snarled, "You're welcome." The Vedic demon was roughly over six feet tall. His head was a traditional tiger's, with green eyes and white fur. His inverse palms sprouted almost claw-like yellowed finger nails, and the same went for his teeth. He wore a black robe accented with a red sash that went over his right shoulder and passed his plump torso. A ruby medallion hung on a chain around the rakshasa's neck. A stylish fez hat rested between the feline ears on the creature's head. In one hand, the son of Ravanna rested on a cane with a straight top emblazoned with a headless phoenix. As the rakshasa pulled out a long, ornate pipe and began to put weasel skin tobacco in it, he muttered to Kresk, "The Abyss, if you please."

After sharply pressing his own button for Hell, the Fire Demon lightly poked the level for the Abyss. The hellevator began its descent into the Lower Planes. The gates closed and Sigil disappeared, replaced by grimy, dark stones tainted with ooze and moss. From an unknown source inside the transport, muzak began to play. The rakshasa idly stood and puffed his pipe, and began to hum along with the tune. Without looking up, Kresk commanded, "Yeah, you'll want to stop doing that. Right now. Clear?" The rakshasa was silent, and only continued to smoke his pipe.

Within an instant, the landscape changed from stones to horrors. Before the hellevator lay a vast and terrible plane, miles below the Titan's feet. Jagged, lifeless mountains rose and clawed the red sky, while black clouds shot lighting and ash. Below was a barren plain, devoid of any plant life but full of fighting, warring demons. Huge pits littered the surface, spaced with fortresses and the flowing River Styx. The nearest army consisted of Minions of Set cooperating with bird and jaguar servants of Tezcatlipoca, all of them carrying long spears. They were jabbing the pole arms into a pit, either trying to deter or provoke something within.

The rakshasa grunted, "Well, this is my stop." He tapped his cane on the ground, and slithered onto his arm like a snake. Holding on to his hat and pipe, the rakshasa opened the gate, sending a blast of sulfurous wind into the hellevator, and stepped out. He should have fell, but instead the fiend only flew through the air. As he glided along, a creature half man and half bat composed of umbral scorpions flew towards the rakshasa. Spitting acid and slobbering poison, it began to chase the mage, but not for long. The rakshasa held his pipe in his mouth, straining his jaw, and used his free hand to fire a blast of red and black energy at the demon. The beam went through the horror's chest, and the demon fell to the mountains below as the rakshasa continued to smoke his pipe.

As the scene began to disappear behind stone again, Raven sighed, "Home sweet home." Prompting a chuckle from Kresk. There was a continued silence in the hellevator, only the sound of chains moving and background muzak humming through the air. Raven stood next to her mentor, and stared at the squalid rocks passing her vision. In Abyssal, barely audible so no one but Raven could hear, the Fire Demon asked, "So..."

"So what?" His apprentice responded in the same demonic language. Kresk inhaled before following up, "Are you scared?"

"…A little."

"Don't bother lying."

"Alright, I'm terrified."

"Good. Abdul Alhazred said in the Necronomicon, one version anyway, that fear is nothing but the pain of the mind. Through fear, we know that we our alive. Your mind knows it is alive. Know fear, and you know life."

"And what is the heart supposed to feel?"

"Doesn't matter. When someone tells you to follow your heart, tell them to piss off. You and you alone own are the decider of your actions. Your hearts just a muscle little piss ant there to pump blood through you. It should learn its place before it starts giving you suggestions."

"…If we die here, there's nothing to worry about, right? Our souls will just return to the Abyss?"

"I wish it was that way, kiddo. But it's not. We die here, the devils get to keep our souls. Gods willing we'll get converted to larvae or nupperibo before the end."

"I thought demons valued freedom over life."

"They do. But half demons like us can do whatever the hell we want."

The rocks suddenly disappeared to reveal the landscape of Avernus, first Layer of the Nine Hells of Baator. Like the Abyss, a red sky with black clouds dominated the scenery. The ground was rocky and intruded upon by clearings for battle. Volcanoes spewed orange red lava, and blood caked the monoliths and lodes of the land. The nimbuses above spewed fire and columbarium, mixing gray to the scene. Below, small factory towns and citadels could be seen, producing the iron, arrows, swords, firearms, armor, bows, and bullets for the armies of Hell, choking the sky with yet more deadly smog. War is Hell, but Hell makes war with glee.

Which of the Lower Planes was considered the worst was up for grabs in most eyes, but the two prime candidates usually seemed to narrow at the Abyss and Hell. Hades had crushing despair; Tarterus was full of betrayal; Jigoku was all about corruption; and Nifleheim mastered disgrace and shame, but only Hell and the Abyss truly captured the spirit of a torturous afterlife. Which of the two was better (or worse) was constantly debated. On the one hand, the Abyss had existed before almost all other planes. Indeed, its original inhabitants were direct by-products of the creation of the multiverse. This was primal evil at its greatest, the true heart of darkness. The savage anathemas here were the undiluted madnesses and passions of all living things, raw darkness at its greatest. The evil of the Abyss was carnal, natural evil, pure and unrefined to be snorted like a bad drug. There is no other way to describe; the Abyss was the home of natural evil and original sins. But some argued this was not the worst the Lower Planes could produce. For in its early days before cultivation, Hell carried just as much malevolence, and had lost none over the billennia. Indeed it had been cultivated from indigenous sickness to refined virus warfare. This was invented evil. Not a lifestyle, but a choice, a deliberate act. If one gave into the darkness of the Abyss, it could pass off as passion or madness. But here, in Hell, the movement was deliberate. It was an intentional harm caused to one living being from another. This then, could be the truest and darkest evil of them all. Such a place, where sin was amusement and whole offices spent eternities inventing new tortures for sentient beings… What a mortal plague!

And below the Titans, barely a speck on the horrible plane was the town of Vergaea. Nestled in the jagged mountains of Avernus, it was a production town of archaic design. The buildings were of post-gothic design, medieval to say the least. A massive stone wall, four feet thick surrounded the entire hamlet. Nine towers sprouted from the wall, one for each Arch-Duke that owed their safety to Baal and his armies that fought against demons and angels. The First of the Nine, War-Lord of Avernus, General of Hell, and youngest of the baatezu Arch-Dukes was a beast of battle. He had stolen his name from the titular god of the same title, for his pantheon was a dying one, constantly overshadowed by the gods of Babylon, if not the Elder of Days himself. And while angels, Inevitables, and even the Broods of Chaos spared dying gods their names, devils and demons had no such qualms, and freely scavenged appellations for themselves. Astarte to Astaroth, Baal to Baal, Ashima to Aeshma, Asherah to asura, and at least two arch-fiends calling themselves Dagon. (Although to be fair, the original Dagon was still moving along rather nicely compared to the rest of his pantheon.)

All along the watch towers were devils equipped with bows and rifles. In Hell, different situations called for different artillery, after all. The buildings were squat, square things, almost identical down to the bricks. Cobblestone paths ran between the streets on the sterile soil. Most of the structures were two stories tall, but the barracks and the fighter's guild hall stood at three. From at least a dozen forges came the constant wringing of hammers on anvils, producing shields, breastplates, swords, guns, arrows, bombs, crossbows, maces, and helmets. Smoke spewed from three separate factories, just barely evolved from their predecessor iron smiths. It was hard to tell if there was any other kind of trade in Vergaea. Devils did not require food, or drink, or sleep, so inns and markets were all identified by signs now concealed in masks of soot. Interspersed around the town were tall pikes, where the corpses of angels, demons, mind flayers, goblins, orcs, Inevitables, and humans were all eviscerated.

The hellevator was now invisibly landing in a hollow building devoid of life. It had once been a stable for Nightmares and hellhounds, but both creatures were ravenous, and frequently devoured their keepers. As such, the raising of war beasts was left to one of Baal's dukes. Even with the onset of tanks, creatures of battle never lost their standing. Anyone could build a combat vehicle; only a master could raise an oliphant to breathe fire and carry enough sentience to act as a commander. As the Titans began to put on the long coats Shade gave them, Kresk hissed out his orders, for some odd reason assuming that the Titans were listening, "Alright, let me make this clear. We get in, we get out, and we don't make any fuss. Don't touch anything, don't talk to anything, don't even make eye-contact. And most importantly, this I can't stress enough. Don't agree to anything, _anything_. Remember the rhyme; 'demons possess and angels bless, but only devils bargain.' Now stay behind me and try to keep up."

"Hey! Why do we have to follow you around?" Garfield whined. Cyborg added, "Yeah. If you brought is out on this little field trip, shouldn't we be able to go where we want?"

"Not to nag, but that probably wouldn't be the wisest thing to do in the world." Raven noted. Beast Boy fret, "Oh come on Rae! Don't be like that! We can take care of ourselves. Right guys?" The other Titans concurred. Raven only blankly stared and posed, "Oh really? Alright, let me see where to begin… All of you, empty your pockets."

"What? Why?" Robin asked. A glare from the cambion was the only answer he got. Groaning, Richard reached into his pocket and pulled out some loose change and a pocket knife, along with his wallet and larval lint. Garfield did the same, and Victor evacuated a built in compartment of the same general contents. Raven walked over to the automaton and picked up the keys to his car. He started to stammer, but she put them back in his mechanical hand. The mage then picked up a nickel from Beast Boy's palm. She held up to her eye and explained; "Now this might be a problem?"

"What?" the shape changer asked. Raven went on, "Well, coins used to contain silver. And if you didn't know better, you might still think they were made out of silver."

"So?"

"Devils hate silver. It burns straight through their skin. And they're also strong believers in fault by association."

"Oh."

"Listen to the witch, idiots." Kresk noted. He had lost his horns and his claws, while his pasty skin had become a scaly crimson. He adjusted his robes so they lost any sign of individuality, losing the savage horror of a demon for the gothic nobility of a devil. The Fire Demon continued, "You rubes wouldn't last three minutes out there. You'd all probably wander up to some random erinyes to screw, or make a deal with a chain devil. And I wouldn't save you either! Oh no! Whatever messes you get in, I leave…you…in…" There was a moment of silence as Kresk realized just how easily he could be rid of the Titans. It worked out so nicely! Let them wander in Hell so the baatezu could take care of them; he wouldn't have to lift a finger! If they survived, so what? The demon was immortal after all. He could wait. He had all the time in the world…just not all the patience.

Flustered, the tanar'ri begged his apprentice, "Child of mine! How can you have so little faith in your companions! Just give them a chance! If they're going to be living with us, they need to learn how to survive on the planes by themselves!" Raven was hesitant. This was clearly a ploy, but the Demon in her head whispered, _'Go on. Run with it! See what happens!'_ She sighed, "I don't know…"

"Friend Raven, we are quite capable of taking care of ourselves." Starfire said politely.

"Yeah, come on Rae!"

"We don't need you baby-sitting us out here, you know."

"Fine…" was all the half-demon could breathe out. "Excellent!" Kresk clapped.

"All right!"

"Awesome!"

"Spectacular!" At last, Kresk opened the hellevator and stepped out of the abandoned kennel. The Titans were all concealed under the coats, hoods included to hide their mortal faces. Oddly, the coats seemed to expand and contract, warping over Cyborg to hide his legs. "Try not to die too fast, eh?" was all that Kresk snarled as he moved on. The hellevator stayed in place. Raven voiced, meet back here in an hour. Remember, we're next to the pole with the green angels on it." Raven said, pointing to the closest pike, which was indeed covered with the corpses of trumpet archons.

The Titans moved their separate ways, Raven and Kresk moving off down the center road. The apprentice muttered, "I hope they can take care of themselves." And all the Arcanist of Fire could say was, "I don't."

* * *

Beast Boy wandered the smoky streets. It had only been twenty minutes, and already he was bored. He seemed like an innocuous traveler, so no one had any reason to suspect he was a problem. In the time it took him to explore the alleyways, he had seen the forgery, the armory, the mason, the weapons crafter, another forge, another armory, another mason, another weapon crafter, an arms dealer, three industrial steel plants, and six law schools.

It was a well known fact that devils made the best lawyers in the whole multiverse. Perhaps some might view this as a stereotype or a criticism, but that is not to say that angels or Inevitables don't make good lawyers either. But something calls devils to the profession, molds them to be great attorneys and judges. Even the most blood-thirsty barbazu knows some rudimentary legality. They are natural bargainers, professional contractors of the highest degree. As Kresk said, angels bless and demons possess, but only devils bargain. As such, Hell is full of the best law schools in creation. Beelzebub's layer, the seventh Hell, has the most prestigious law school ever. Period. Beings from other time-lines actually attempt to attend. In an infernal law school, millions apply, thousands enter, and barely a dozen survive the first week.

Still, Garfield was bored out of his protean skull. All anybody ever did in this town was train for war and make weapons. Nothing else whatsoever. So perhaps he should have been suspicious when something hissed at him from the darkness. But then there wouldn't be a story to tell, now would there?

At first, the shape changer thought the sound was steam escaping from a random pipe. But then he saw the crimson hand urging him over to an alley. He stood there quizzically for a moment before the hand started pointing to the ground in front of it violently. Beast Boy walked over, and the hand abruptly pulled him into the byway. The boy wanted to yelp, but another hand covered his mouth, and a voice hissed, "Shut up!" Standing in front of Beast Boy were three devils. They were stereotypes of the infernal race if their ever was one; red skin, yellow or dark eyes, small horns on their foreheads, and slick hair that usually ended in a widow's peak. They had even taken grown light goatees and moustaches. One of them murmured, showing his straight white teeth and fangs, "You wanna' make a quick buck?" Garfield, still muffled, nodded his head. Kresk had said not to make any deals with devils, but this was an exception; namely that Beast Boy or the Titans never listened to anything Kresk said.

"If we let go of you now, will you promise not to scream?" another asked. Beast Boy nodded his head again. The devil let his hand off Garfield's mouth, and the changeling gasped for breath with a few coughs. Somewhere along the line, he asked, "What do you want me to do?"

"Wow. You kept your promise. We might not kill you after all."

"Could you get to the point?"

"Quiet, boy! We've killed better than you for less." The devil hissed. The third one explained, "We have need of delivering a package that is of great importance to our lord. However, we don't trust the local bureaucrats. This is top secret information, and we need it delivered quickly and privately."

"Why can't you do it yourself?" the changeling asked. The second devil replied, "What part of 'top secret' didn't you catch, الأبله? This has to be done with the utmost discretion."

"Umm…this is starting to sound like a bad idea. I'd feel better if you told me what I was carrying around." Beast Boy pleaded. One of the devils drew out a knife and sharply said, "Ask us again, and we'll kill you right here."

"Okay! I'll take that box now!" the shape changer stuttered. All three devils grunted in unison, "Good." They handed Beast Boy a small, perfectly square box, and instructed, "You see that tower in the main square? The one with all the devas next to it? Leave this by the front door and knock three times."

"Here's your jink." Another devil said. He gave Garfield three silver coins emblazoned with the head of a lion. The final devil said, "For Heaven's sake, don't fail, غبي." The devils shoved the mortal out on to the street, nearly knocking his hood off. They didn't seem to pay any heed that he didn't look particularly fiendish, and only shooed him away with their hands. Beast Boy started to walk away, and after he was gone, the devils muttered, "والله قد تساعد غابرييل الصبي."

"حظا سعيدا ، غبي."

"هادئ! كلا منك! وقال انه قد يكون مجرد جاسوس آخر! وسنستمر على مسار عنه حتى النجاح."

Beast Boy didn't have to wander far. A black, jagged, rectangular tower loomed in the main square. In front of it were at least seven pikes skewered with angels and devas of every variety. Trying to keep his disgust while looking at the beautiful creatures' death pall, Garfield went up a set of steps. He was surprised to find no door, only a wall. Seeing no other means, the changeling rested the box at the top of the stairs. He walked away, flipping the coins he had just gotten in his hands. Didn't know anything, huh? This would show Raven! He had gone out and just made…whatever three extra-dimensional silver coins were worth. And then something rather obvious hit Beast Boy. Silver. Why would devils carry silver? He remembered Raven saying they hate silver so why would some devils have-

There wasn't time to think after what came next. From the tower the changeling had just left came the sound of a very loud explosion. A fireball had taken out the base of the pillar; the package had been a bomb. The structure faltered, and the collapsed in on itself before it fell over entirely, reduced to burning rubble. Numerous devils and other hellish residents either ran or found themselves wounded under the tower's rubble, and it was apparent that several other devils were dead. Beast Boy's eyes began to water from horror and a sense of self-loathing. He had just been part of an act of war, of senseless violence! Oh God, he had been bought off by –

"The bene ishiim strike again!" called out one of the 'devils' Beast Boy had met. "Spy angels!" a Torture Devil howled. And as Beast Boy looked up, he saw that the bene ishiim did seem to have a certain more…look to them. The biggest hints included the radiant, golden aura of pure holiness and the arrival of three devas that grabbed them by the shoulders and flew off into the west, pursued by a swarm of erinyes, imps, and advespa. And all the while, when the devils were staring at the chase, did anyone notice the abandoned cloak on the ground and the green fly zooming away from it.

* * *

Cyborg was moving along uncomfortably under his tight cloak. He didn't see why he had to wear the cumbersome garment; if anyone wanted to pick a fight with him, he was ready. He was pretty sure devils still felt a fist in the jaw. As he was unfastening his mantle, Victor was interrupted by the sight of a mid-air chase. Three devils being carried by angels zoomed off into the distance, pursued relentlessly by another horde of fiends. A crowd of earth-bound devils chased after them, some shouting spells and obscenities, some merely watching. Two Bearded Devils stood near Cyborg. They were each six feet tall, and their main bodies were draconically humanoid. They had no wings, explaining their land-bound position. Their most notable features were their 'beards'; each of the devils had a humanoid face that ended in a nest of vipers, almost looking like facial hair. One of them hissed out, "Damn spy angels! Coming into our home and screwing everything up!" The other one replied, "They must have had help! Someone would have sensed the bene ishiim otherwise!"

"That means there's dissension in the ranks!"

"This means that someone is thinking differently!" (_It should be noted here that Bearded Devils, or barbazu, are widely regarded as one of the stupidest species of devil._)

"I hate differences!"

"So do I!"

"In fact, I hate differences so much, I'm gonna' sodomize the next different thing I see!"

"And while you're doing that, I'll punch it until I can't remember why I'm punching it!"

"Yeah!"

"Hey, you look mildly different from us! Get over here!" One of the osyluths pointed at Cyborg. The automaton was usually up for a challenge but these guys, well…They were surrounded by allies, and each one did have a glaive roughly as tall as themselves dripping blood. Victor sputtered, "Who? Me? Different? Don't be stupid! I hate different stuff too!"

"Really?" One of the devils marveled. The other one asked, "Then do you want to join us in our rape and general abuse of individuality?" Looking for a good excuse in his memory banks, Cyborg pulled, "Gee, I'd like too, because I really do hate stuff like that, but I… have to go to the place, and do…stuff. Uh…Hail Satan?"

"Hail Satan!" Both Bearded Devils cried out at once, beating their hands on their barrel chests. They noticed an imp nearby who had been too distracted scanning the skies to reply with them. One of the larger baatezu cried, "Hey, he didn't join in our salute!" This was followed by the other howling, "Get him!" They both grabbed the imp by its wings and pulled it into one of the nearby dark alleys, disappearing into the gloom. Cyborg, ever so quietly, moved away to safer terrain.

* * *

Bone Devils ran through the streets, searching and sniffing for any sign of more spies, and finding scapegoats to sacrifice to the higher-ups for the incident. Robin and Starfire remained guarded under their cloaks. "Robin, what is going on?" The redhead asked, puzzled by all the commotion. "I don't know Star, I just don't know…" was all that Richard could affirm her. The two stayed close, almost being trampled by a pride of feline Flauros-spawn. The cat-like devils were covered in barding, and padded to a slowly gathering regiment of more baatezu. Organized and strict, the cohort was marshaled precisely down to a unit. Bearded Devils were flanked by dozens of lemures and nupperibo. The Flauros-spawn placed themselves at the front in two neat rows. A wing of erinyes was nearby, the children of fallen angels ready to take flight. Fat, swollen Blood Imps followed, the professional battle nurses of the Hells. A band of mercenary Chain Devils, kytons, from Minauros prepared their animate shackles. Four Bone Devils accompanied the troupe, aiding two Horned Devils, the cornugons. The company was well-outfitted; all but the lemures and nupperibo were in metallic armor.

Finally, the leader of the troop emerged in a burst of flames, like a comet beating onto the ground. Easily twelve feet tall, he was a devil in every sense of the word. He was terrifying and noble, graceful and brutal, bestial and humanoid all at once. He had tremendous leathery wing with a span larger than most small airplanes. His powerfully muscled body was covered from head to toe in red scales. A thick tail curled and twisted with a barbed end. His face was a mix of dragon, animal, and man, with an impressive set of horns sweeping past his golden eyes. Above the scales was a set of black-iron partial armor. This was a Pit Fiend, the highest order of devil before reaching the grand dukes and princes of Hell.

The commander snarled out to his troops, "Ranks! Form! Tighten to attack position five, you maggots! Lieutenants! Report!" The two cornugons stepped forward. They reflected the Pit Fiend's bestial nature sans the humanity of the greater devil. Their huge wings, gray scales, and gargoyle faces made them look like they belonged petrified above the gates of some heretic temple. One of the stone gray fiends hissed, "Sir, we have been unable to locate any of the infiltrators that may have helped in the assault today. The osyluth have already captured, contained, and tortured over three dozen suspicious underlings, but nothing can be found. It would be wise if we patrolled the area for now, keeping an eye out for anymore espionage."

"My colleague," the other Horned Devil growled, "Is accurate in his lack of information. However, I feel that we have much larger fish to fry, so to speak. A battalion has been seen eighty three miles to the south southwest, and they are approaching ever faster. From all reports, they outnumber us eight to one, and are well equipped with heavy artillery and some silver infantry." The first cornugon assibilated, "Fool! They will never penetrate Vergaea! We have to defend the base, milord! What if the next strike is one of the armories, or the mines? Our enemies will wash over us like a plague if we fall! We have to stay here!"

"No. No, I don't think we need to." The opposing lieutenant remarked. His antagonist continued to whizz "Silence your idiocy! You have no authority here!"

"Actually, I do. Milord, I was meaning to tell you to this in more private settings, but it appears my ass of a companion refuses to hold his tongue. We have word from Zariel herself on her orders." The first cornugon dropped his toothed jaw while the Pit Fiend raged, "What?! Why was I not informed of this immediately?! What did she say?!"

"She wrote it down, milord." The lesser baatezu conjured a scroll with a broken seal. The Pit Fiend almost ripped it from his underling's claws, and read it silently, his glowing eyes increasing in intensity as they moved down the page. When he was done, the commander clinched his fist around the note, incinerating it in a fireball as he arred, "Damn that has-been cow to Heaven! Why Baal ever let that whore out I'll never know…we have our orders! We march to the field of battle! Summon the banner carriers and any battle-mages willing to die for their lord!"

"Aye, commander!" The two lesser devils yelped. Taking wing with the Pit Fiend, the three disappeared, leaving the rest to prepare for the upcoming march. Starfire pulled on Robin's arm and begged, "Robin…do you think that we could go help them? The angels?"

"What do you mean, Star?" Richard asked. The princess mewled, "If we leave now, we could go tell the angels to be ready for the attack." There was a snort next to Starfire, and something asked, "And how are you sure it is angels that are here?" Kori looked to the spot beside her. There was another squat, robed figure there. But this seemed like a festering and malformed thing. The burlap friar's robe stuck to the thing's skin, while some kind of black liquid sweated underneath. The hands that came from the sleeves were freakishly long, with sustained claws. An oval head could be hazily seen beneath the hood, a pair of red and green eyes staring out. Around the fiend's neck was a chain bearing an odd amulet; a triangle made out of ebony, with a three lobed eye in the center.

The extraterrestrial noble rejoined, "Well, who else would the devils be fighting? On every world, from Earth to Tameran to Rigus and Trigonia, it is known that Heaven and Hell are constantly at war." The fiend sighed out, "And this is the great failing of mortals. You assume that all schisms of evil occur in the same place. There is more than one Hell, and it is here that you should know that the most. The devils do not go to fight angels, no. They go to fight demons." The Tameranian looked perplexed and queried, "But are not 'devil' and 'demon' two words for the same thing?"

"Don't be stupid, girl. Many describe all true creatures of evil as a 'demon', but this is just a mortal device to try and capture the empire of sin that encompasses the Lower Planes. Devils and demons are only alike by their hatred for valor and good. And an alliance forged from hatred is a flimsy thing at best. Move beyond that, and they are as different as night and day. So much so that the single largest race war in existence can be traced back to both parties. All you have to do is listen to the wind, and you will hear the cries of death, smell the gore, and taste the blood on the wind. Look around and feel this place; it was made for killing without mercy. It was made for the horrors of the Blood War."

"The Blood War?"

"The great battle between devils and demons only stopped three times in the whole of existence. Aside from that, every day has been another melee for the fiends, a never-ceasing genocide concocted by both."

"Why would demons- I mean, devils and demons fight amongst themselves so? Would there not be greater force in unity?"

"Hah! You understand nothing of the Hells. They've both been fighting so long they have no reason to stop anymore."

"But why?"

"None can say why. Some say it is a quest for whom will shape the face of evil in the end. Others say it occurred from some petty slight that the other caused. And yet more say that it is but the ancient war between chaos and law playing out its last strings. There is no true answer, only the truth as it is now. Nothing comes of the Blood War. No ground is gained, no plane is crafted or belief defeated. Perhaps the occasional mortal soul is tortured, but it seems just as likely that the lesser demons born from the damned could ascend to a higher rank. All in all, a very poor perdition."

"But at least the angels are a little safer, correct? Their burden is slightly eased by the infighting."

"One would like to think, but no, foolish girl. The armies of Heaven don't know the meaning of the word 'stop'. Instead of taking their graces to more fruitful orchards, they throw themselves into the grand battle, believing they will find a weakness in the damnation. Everything is pulled towards the Blood War, every angel, devil, and demon to be seen is touched by it. And yet the only creatures that don't seem to ever get their paws dirty are the daemons. Strange, but not too strange considering they keep their talons well above the dirt, attached to puppet strings."

"What do you mean?"

"Whatever the intent of the Blood War is, the daemons seek to control it. They manipulate and sell their services to both tanar'ri and baatezu equally. They are mercenaries who have never been paid. Some refuse to enter the battlefield; others try to fight when they should flee. They are only as half-hearted as any of their brethren, and that is how they shall fall."

"I would not imagine such loathsome creatures having hearts to begin with…"

"Humph. And you would be correct in your naiveté, little mortal. We speak of the daemons' place on the wheel. Demons align themselves to chaos, devils to law. But daemons align themselves to nothing. They believe that the vacancy they leave will be filled by yet more sin. Instead, only void remains. They are half-things, smug beasts that fatten themselves on absence. But while they manipulate their diseases from bone and flesh towers, they decay each passing year, like rocks hit by waves. For while they refuse to interact with their fellows, or humor mortals and gods, they change from master to advisor to mercenary to secret. Soon, none shall know the name of daemons, and they shall be as relics in a collection, shards of pottery that used to make Pandora's Box. And they _will_ die. They are too much like you not to."

"But the world I call home is a world of good and energy. You speak only lies, nasty thing." The tar dripping monster laughed, "Do we? Look at your home! Look at the sloth and inaction that slithers through your lives! You lift a finger ever so often, but it is only to alleviate the guilt that gnaws at you when the streets become littered with corpses. And you live as we taught you; you live by the great truth. It is enough to witness."

"No! You are wrong! Every day, I go and fight the wrong wherever or whatever it may be!"

"That only makes you a piece in the puzzle. Oh yes, we imagine you slay monsters and halt thieves, but what is that to the suffering? Will stopping the common robbers make the poor man any less hungry? Will stopping a bomb keep the father's fist off of his child? Will the ignorant whore learn how to read if you dam the flooding river? But no, you are correct. Worry about what others will see, not the quiet necrosis. And at the end of the day, while you rest in bed after washing the blood off your hands, you can tell yourself that you did the right thing. You can sip your mustard and pet your maggot, deaf to the screams outside. Why would they want your bread? Let them eat cake."

"How do you know about –"

"We know many things, child. One thing we know is your kind. The lovers, the forgiving, the saviors. We made you, just as we made the angels, and we succeeded beyond our wildest dreams. You are like them as well. Imagine if the angels exerted their full efforts into aiding others. Devas serving soup in the poor houses, Solars and Lunars healing the sick and mad, eladrin teaching children how to write. But they are not there, they leave only another absence. For where is the honor in the pen and ladle, where is the virtue of the healer? No, there is far more glory in swinging a sword blindly at Hell."

"No! You are wrong! Good can prevail! Good _does_ prevail! I see to it everyday! I make sure the pure are rewarded with justice on my home!" the Tameranian yelled. The seer only raised a scaly eyebrow under his robe and hissed, "Then why aren't you there now, we wonder?" There was only silence from Kori. The brute waddled away, its feet flapping and leaving tarry foot-prints on the stone. It hissed, "We see. You have no answer for us." Kori shouted out, "Wait! What are you?! A demon? A devil? One of the third that you spoke of?"

"We are none of them. We were greater than all of them." The beast sibilated. Frustrated, Starfire demanded, "Then WHAT?!" Turning around, all they said was, "We are Legion, for we are many."

In a waterfall of tar, the scoundrel disappeared. Robin shook Starfire's shoulder, fretting, "Star? Starfire?" The Tameranian looked at her boy as he asked, "Are you alright? You've been staring at the sidewalk for a couple of minutes now." Baffled, Kori asked, "Did you not see him? Did you not see the ugly little creature that was standing there saying evil things?" Robin nervously responded, "Star…it's just been us. You kind of blanked out and went mute for awhile. Are you…feeling okay?" Starfire checked the spot where the energumen had just been.

Nothing there.

Rubbing her eyes, the princes affirmed, "I'm fine, I'm just…I must be getting tired." Robin wearily comforted, "Well, come on. It's about time for us to meet up with Raven again." Quietly, the two marched away, Starfire convinced that Hell was trying to steal her mind. Robin put his boot on a dark spot in the road, and his shoe was briefly stuck to the ground. Richard lifted his foot, dragging sticky, black tar with him as he groaned, "Ah, man! Where did this come from?" Starfire was glad she was wearing her cloak. She did not want her prince to see the shivers running her spine.

* * *

Side by side, master and apprentice, Raven and Kresk walked towards the accorded meeting spot, the Fire Demon dragging a large sack over his shoulder. The mercane that had dealt with the two of them was pleasant enough; a wide selection, willingness to barter, and a wish to know nothing of the two travelers' business. Kresk had bought the solidified Hellfire with ease, and then purchased a few more esoteric goods for himself. Raven only sighed as the demon in disguise grunted, heaving the bag on his back. Soughing, Raven asked, "Don't you think you went a little overboard? We just came here for the Hellfire. I'm guessing a few devils have probably taken note of you." Without looking at the cambion, Kresk clearly said, "There's no such thing as overboard."

"Two pounds of camatzotz guano isn't overboard?"

"Hey! Have you ever used this stuff as a material for fireballs? It makes what I throw look like tissue paper! Now pick up the pace, the devils seem edgy for some reason."

"I hope the others didn't get in trouble. Gods only know what they could have stepped in without us…"

"I'm sure they're fine…unfortunately. As long as they do as I told them, they'll be fine. Besides, what's the worst can hap-"

"Don't finish that."

"Right." Within a few short minutes, the Arcanists were standing next to the pike covered with dead Trumpet Archons. Flies buzzed around the deceased angels, the insects making themselves quite comfortable in the carcasses. Raven swatted some of the vermin away as Kresk bemoaned, "Where in Hell are your idiots? Next time you should keep them on a leash…"

"If you can get one around me, you can try." Cyborg said as he came forward. Raven smiled, "Glad to see you made it back in one piece." Cyborg snorted, "Yeah, well, it wasn't easy. Something spooked these things a while ago. I'm just standing there one minute, the next, there's an explosion and a bunch of angels running for their lives."

Kresk widened his eyes in anticipation, snarling, "What?! Well what happened after that?!" Shrugging his shoulders, Victor said, "I don't really know. The demons or whatever they are started running around, just as confused as I was. Oh, and two of them tried to recruit me in beating up the first thing they saw and didn't like, but I turned them down." Raven raised an eyebrow, "You dealt with devils? They must not have been paying much. How'd you manage it?" Cyborg smiled, "I'm mostly metal, so I got a silver tongue." Kresk groaned in pain for weeping comedy, baying, "I'd say that was gods-awful, but that does a disservice to gods."

"Seriously, I have a program called silverTNG. It's a personality analyzer that occasionally kicks in." the automaton bragged. The Fire Demon snorted, "Great. So we have the world's biggest Swiss army knife on our hands. When you start crapping Acheron cigars, call me. I might care by then." All Cyborg did was disapprovingly sound with a contemptuous look. Robin and Starfire were the next to arrive. Kresk was only mildly satisfied with the results. Kori looked like she had seen a ghost, but Richard only looked slightly phased. The Fire Demon snarled at Richard, "So, you wanna' keep renting or are you ready to buy some property here. There's a lovely little spot by the Lake of Fire a few levels down. The thing is it's just where Hell used to store gays and blasphemers. You'll get the full spa treatment; fire serpents straight from Apep's womb, rain of burning human feces, the occasional gang-rape from wandering usurers, really the whole deal, quite a pleasant place to endure your perdition once everything's said and done."

"Drop it. I'm not in the mood right now." Robin snarled with disgust. Kresk puckered, "Oh, why not? Did little itsy-bitsy Dick not have fun today? Did…Hey, what's with Bimbo? She looks like a gut fish."

"Why would you care? She's been like this for awhile now." Richard responded. Raven went over to Starfire and begged, "Star? You okay? You look a little down-beat." With a start, the Tameranian was pulled from her sopor. She almost murmured, "No, I am quite fine. I would just like to return home. Nothing more…"

"You're a terrible liar. But I really don't give enough of a rat's ass to ask anymore. You all heard her; let's call Stupid MIA and head for the hills." Kresk motioned. A fly that had been roosting on a nearby wall, avoiding its angel-feasting brothers, squeaked before turning into the changeling. Garfield was still practically buzzing, "Hey! You can't ditch me like that!"

"Watch me." The Fire Demon snorted, following up with, "Where's your getup? Did anyone follow? Oh, Old Night's womb, what did you do?"

"What?! Dude! Nothing! I didn't do anything! I swear! I just lost track of my coat-thing and –"

"Did you catch the explosion that-"Cyborg began. Beast Boy quickly yelped, "No!" The shape-changer's stomach let out a loud growl. Kresk stared at the green hero with disgust. Nervously chuckling, Beast Boy defended, "Sorry, guess I must be hungry?" The Fire Demon half roared, half groaned, "How can you be hungry?! You just ate ten hours ago!"

"Dude, that's a long time for me and- did you just say ten hours? There's no way it's been ten hours…"

"Sure there is. Five hours on the infinite staircase, two hours in Sigil, and three hours here."

"We can't have been on the stairs more than a half-hour! I remember!"

"There's the thing; time flows differently in most dimensions. You only remember what your puny mortal meat-bag can remember."

"Yeah, well I'm still hungry."

"Can't you wait till' we're back at your crap-shack? It's not that far away."

"Dude, there's a bar right there! Let's just go in! They've got to have food."

"They're closed."

"No they're not! I can see a fire inside!"

"It's Hell. What else do you expect to see? There's fire everywhere! There are at least five layers devoted to nothing BUT fire! How can you possibly use fire as a valid argument here? Oh, look, there's fire in Hell! Gasp!"

"Kresk let's just go." Raven sighed. The other Titans looked at Kresk with annoyance, even his apprentice, who had to admit even she was a little famished. The Fire Demon bore on, "They're closed, see?"

"There are shapes moving behind the windows."

"…Poltergeists?" Even Kresk had to admit defeat at the skepticism of the Titans. Throwing his claws into the air, the Fire Demon clamored, "Fine! Let's go!" As the Titans marched toward the nameless pub, Kresk mumbling the whole way. As they entered, dust ran from the door in fright. There were small, round wooden tables on the main floor, and a bar in the back. Everything was coated with grime and dirt. There were five minor devils in the place, and they too looked as if they had become colonies for cobwebs. The Titans found a far off table. Kresk went to the bar and rapped on the wood three times. A miserable looking creature, somewhere between a chimpanzee and a winged porcupine shuffled out. Kresk pointed to the Titans. The devil blinked its dull red eyes and nodded.

Kresk sat down next to Raven, leaving a gap between him and Victor. Robin commented, "This place isn't what I thought it would be like. I mean, bars, day-jobs…it's not that far from home."

"Even jailers need a break every now and then." Kresk wheezed. Robin only continued to wonder, "Why does Ashmedez leave them on such a short leash?"

"Asmodeus." Kresk hissed through his teeth. One of the other patrons raised their head at the name. Raven retorted, "You're just seeing what devils do when the damned aren't around. Give them some souls and they'll go straight to work." Beast Boy asked, "So, what? They beat the crap out of a bunch of souls until they get bored, than give them to Azodia? Kind of seems like a lame system."

"Asmodeus." Kresk practically spit. The other patrons were looking worried. Cyborg wondered, "Hey why does everyone call Asmudiun Satan here? Why not just call him his real name."

"Asmodeus." The blood in Kresk's head was now rushing through his veins. More than one patron actually left the bar. Raven hastily explained, "Satan is actually an honorary title, given to the highest ruler in Hell. It's like 'emperor' or 'pharaoh'. But because Asmodeus has always been the king, the terms have become synonymous." One of the other patrons covered their ears and murmured forgiveness very quietly. Kresk was now digging his claws into the wooden table, fuming, "Stop saying his name. For the love of gods stop butchering his name."

"Who's name?" Starfire now joined in, unaware of the climate. A match to a cannon, she pondered "Axmendiass?"

Something in Kresk snapped. Claws still buried in the table, he jumped up and screamed, roared, howled in fearful and godless rage that echoed across Hell, "**FOR THE LAST TIME! IT! IS! AAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSMMMMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSS!"**

At that moment, deep within the bowels of the Nessus, ninth layer of Hell, a voice echoed throughout Malsheem, noting, "Ah, and it would appear we have a final guest to our little dinner party. Martinet, do go take care of that post haste…"

* * *

**Must...stop...reading...Watchmen. Can't...do it. Too damn...good. Alan Moore...greatest comic writer...ever. Just...need...to put down...book.**

**AGH! Sorry about that. I hope you're all as excited about the Watchmen movie as I am. Let me be frank; if you have never read a single graphic novel in your life, read Watchmen. If you have read a graphic novel, go read Watchmen. Then read your favorite comic again. And if you ever dare, I mean you think you have the NADS to try and contest that manga is better than western comics, I will shove your face into Watchmen. Because who won the Hugo award? Was it Naruto or Bleach?**

**No.**

**I didn't think so. No offense manga lovers. Thems just the facts.  
**

**Oh yeah. Vote in the stupid poll thing. If I'm late with the next update, than it's because I've begun my new quest. I'm going into the mountains of eternity, deep into the glass palace of genius. There, I will steal a lock of hair from Alan Moore's giant mountain man beard. And in turn, I will gain some of his god-like power.**

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	7. Appetizers

"_I came into a place void of all light, which bellows like the sea in tempest, when it is combated by warring winds."_

- Dante Alighieri, _The Divine Comedy: Inferno_ (Canto V; Lines 28-30)

"_And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell."_

- The Book of Matthew 10: 28

* * *

In less than a few seconds, all the color drained from Kresk's face. The red scales and devil skin sloughed off as his horns creeped out of his scalp and lazily flattened themselves like a dog's pelt against the demon's scalp. His nostrils flared and his mouth hung slack, the Fire Demon suddenly found his mouth dry. He started shivering and rasping as bloody tears formed in his widened eyes. The nearest patron had a similar look about him, but not for long. The gargoyle-like creature yelped, "Black Sabbat embrace me!" At that, he promptly jumped out the dusty bar-window, scattering glass both inside and out, and ran for his life. The porcupine-like bartender stood slack-jawed for a moment, letting the whole tray he was carrying to the Titans' table crash to the floor. The spiny devil ran to a back room, quickly placing a gold pentagram aboard a nail on the door. The other devils in the room had some minor control over magic; they had teleported before Kresk had even turned pink.

For what seemed like an hour, Kresk sat there in total, shocked, asthmatic silence. The Titans were all getting a little nervous. This was the longest they had ever seen the Fire Demon go into one of these trances. Raven was particularly perturbed. Gently, the cambion shoved Kresk on the arm ever so slightly, begging, "Kresk? Kresk, can you hear me?"

"Maybe he lost his voice." Beast Boy joked. The demon started twitching again, and very slowly moved his eyes toward Raven's hand. For a moment, the young daughter of Graz'zt thought that she might be able to reach the fellow tanar'ri, but that was before his eyes went back to their original position. Before anybody could say anything, before a fly could even flap its wings, Kresk started screaming. But perhaps 'scream' isn't the right term. For as one certainly knows, screaming can be therapeutic, stress relieving, and even comical to those around the screamer. This was not such a sound; this was a blare of sheer and utmost terror and self-hatred, a howl of pain from an animal wishing it could bite off its own face. This was the sound demons hear in their nightmares.

Finally, Kresk's howl died down. His mouth still hung slightly open, and the faintest of wheezes departed the demon's throat. Robin uncovered his ears, protesting, "What was THAT?" Kresk slowly turned his head towards his Apprentice, more terrified than ever, and prayed, "We have to get out of here."

"What?" Cyborg said. In a flurry of motion, Kresk arose, grabbed Victor by the shoulder, and crazed with a mad look, "**We have to get OUT! OF! HERE!**" He abruptly dropped the automaton and burst through the tavern door. In a defensive stance, the demon twitched his head from side to side, his cat-like irises fluttering even faster. The Titans were soon to gather around the panicked Kresk. Annoyed, Robin further bemoaned, "What are you talking about? What the Hell is going on?" Not catching the irony, Kresk once again perched his talons on a Titan's shoulders, blood pouring from his eyes as he madly smiled and sang to Robin:

_He sees you when you're sleeping,_

_And when the daylight fades._

_He makes beggars out of emperors,_

_And cowards of the brave._

Raven was now even more shocked by the demon's behavior. Kresk never spoke in rhyme, not unless he was really milking for some dramatic effect or quoting a song. This was a minor concern, but still a concern. The cambion raised her delicate hand slightly and begged, "Kresk?"

"THAT WAY!" The Fire Demon cried, running in a direction he thought was east. Starfire, mutually unnerved by Kresk, flew ahead of the demon and offered, "Fire Demon, are you quite alright? You seem to have lost your smug sense of arrogance and love of pain that formed your 'In-your-face' attitude as they call it." Starfire was speaking in an even more polite and cut tone than usual; she was unsure just _how_ to help a demon. It sounded like he was muttering more of his poem in Abyssal, but it was hard to tell over the sobbing and minor vomiting. The demon finally had to lean on a door and fell to the ground, moaning:

_From the cradle to the tomb,_

_He is our Lord and King,_

_Who with a whisper spells the doom,_

_Of every living thing._

_He tastes you in the silver winds,_

_And hears you in the void._

_In blood your name he has penned,_

_And your heart destroyed._

"He has _really_ got to stop doing that, 'cause I'm starting to get a little weirded out here." Beast Boy remarked. The Titans gathered around Kresk, and Raven soothed, "Kresk, you have to pull yourself together. You have nothing to worry about. Look at me and tell me what the odds are that you said…_his_ name for the one hundredth time. It's almost impossible."

"And that's what will make it happen!" the Fire Demon croaked. Cyborg chipped in, "Look, I don't know much about other dimensions, I really don't. Honestly, all this planes stuff scares the crap out of me. But I have to agree with Raven here; even though once in a hundred is statistically pretty small, it's still unlikely, especially if this guy guards his name so well."

"Seriously, you're just spazzing out over nothing." Beast Boy said. Coming back to Raven, the mage comforted, "And if you want to get out of here so bad, then let's just leave. No one's here to stop us, we still have the Hellevator keys; let's just go home."

"Indeed, angry fat creature. And I am almost certain that such a terrible being as the one you mention would not care if you said his name. You are not important to him, after all." Starfire beamed.

"This is precisely why I find my presence so unusual." A voice drawled from behind the Titans. The minor calm that had pervaded Kresk at the Titans' consolations was gone with the crack of his eyelids at the familiar voice. The Titans looked at the source of the sneer before black surrounded them. Coming from the voice's source, no less than thirteen devils, each almost seventeen feet tall formed a ring around the heroes. They had the general shape of some gaunt, incredibly thin humanoid covered in ebon scales. They were not male, or female, or anything but the forms they had taken at that moment. Manes of thin hair flowed from behind large, exaggerated horns that crowned a wicked, stern face of androgynous design. Their wings might have been better described as huge leathery cloaks that grew from their shoulders, no bones or veins to be seen aside from the central ridge. Their hooves were the standard cloven design, with the addition of a third, thin branch on the heel that made it almost look like they were wearing some kind of domineering shoes. But the most notable feature of the devils were the huge scythes; massive, slick implements that grew directly from the devils' arms, making them almost incapable of any manipulation but slaughter. Their huge forms blotted out the light of Avernus as the fiends kept their wings spread to prevent any escapees or runaways. At the far end of the gyre, opposite of the Titans, two distinctly separate beings stood. The first towered several feet above the lesser devils, a Pit Fiend no less than twenty feet tall. Despite its species, the creature was not red, but a shade of violet. What's more, it was somewhat translucent, allowing the Titans to see its massive veins and beating heart. These were the Ashmede, Asmodeus personal bodyguards and secret police force in Hell.

But it was not the core of the terror that clawed at the Titans' hearts. No, that went to the devil standing beside it. He was small compared to his companions, but still rather large, just a little over nine feet tall really. But his presence, his sheer and ineffable confidence that commanded one listen to him, made him tower over the surrounding beasts. He was the classic image of a devil; his skin was a shade of red, and his face had sharp, handsome features. His black hair had been smoothed back, and a neatly trimmed goatee grew from his chin. His eyes had a smug, deviant look to there dahlia irises. Ebon wings grew from his back and folded neatly behind him, while his barbed tail twirled and swished at its own accord. His legs were, like practically every other resident of the Lower Planes, goat-like (though hairless), ending in surprisingly neatly-trimmed cloven hooves. A robe was draped over his shoulders and conservatively maintained, the red and black of the garment gilded with triangles, pentagrams, and a strange star design that not even Raven had seen. In his hand, the devil held a baton made of unusual metal twists and coils, ending in two perfect diamonds on either side. He smirked at the trembling Kresk, and in a voice laden with contempt and pride, echoing with the decrees of every damnation imaginable, he sneered, "Ah, young master Kresk. We did not expect to see you so soon after your speedy departure from our gates last time."

At the words, Kresk's eyes rolled into the back of his head and the demon finally lost consciousness. His head slumped onto his chest as the devil approached, one hand behind his back, the other clutching his baton. He beamed, "Hmm. Well, that ties up one knot in my negotiations but raises another in the plot as a whole." Cyborg, the horror creeping into his mechanical heart as sheer evil radiated off the being in palatable evil, stuttered, "A-Are you him? Are you Asmodeus?" Instantly, twenty six scythes encircled the Titans as the Ashmede snarled and hissed at a mortal defiling their master's name. The Pit Fiend conjured a sword the length of a mini-van in its colossal hands and held it at the ready. The robed devil, still smiling, winced at the insolence and politely corrected, "No, I am not Asmodeus, my Lord and Master. I am but his voice to the outside world. My name is Martinet, the Voice of Hell, Constable of Perdition, servant and secretary to the Great Satan over us all, and Chief of his Majesty's secret police. I have been informed that I am to attend to you personally."

"And...Uh…what does that mean?" Beast Boy sheepishly asked. Martinet grinned, showing his flawless teeth. He signaled, and the Ashmede lowered their guard. Still smirking, Martinet jovially explained, "It means that I am to deliver his Majesty's personal invitation to dinner for you. You should be aware of what a rare honor this is. The Great Satan never eats, unless he wants to make a display of utmost trust and hospitality. All I need is your accordance."

"So, what do we have to do?" Raven asked. Martinet wagged his finger as he redressed, "Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! You know so little of Hell! Your word can't be remembered for the ink devils or the contractor devils to remember, now can it?" In a flash, Martinet held his baton by its side, and with a flick of his wrist, unsheathed a scroll from the body, as if it had always been there and the sign of office was little more than a gaudy scroll-tube. The Voice of Hell conjured a pen made of iron fish-bone, and politely asked, "And now, if you please, on the dotted line, just sign." Each of the Titans looked wearily at the scroll, and Starfire finally summoned the courage to ask, "What if we choose to deny your invitation?" Martinet laughed, "Of course there is no pressure, little princess! That is why it is an invitation, not an order. You can freely walk away, right now, dragging your shuddering demon back home, and leaving my Lord to miss your presence. It is of no importance, after all; you are only the first mortals to be invited into the presence of my Lord in over eight millennia, and that is without slaying an arch-devil or chastising some dark god for your own self-righteous ambitions. But if you really must leave…"

"Doesn't sound like we really have a choice." Cyborg dryly retorted. He wasn't fooled by all this bells and whistles; Hell was Hell as much as he was fully organic. Martinet only leered, "There is always a choice. That is the great truth of Hell."

"Can we have a moment to talk?" Raven begged. "Of course." The Chief of the Secret Police obliged. The cambion motioned for the Titans to huddle around Kresk's unconscious form. Arm to shoulder, the Titans debated in hushed voices lest the Ashmede hear them. Raven set, "Alright, what do you think we should do?" Robin stepped in immediately, "I say we go with him. From the looks of things, we really don't have much choice. I mean, come on; what kind of 'choice' requires a bunch of giant monsters and the Devil's secretary? And there might be some weird trigger in all this, like if we disagree he has legal right to kill us or something like that. That's a risk I'm not willing to take."

"I'm with Robin on this." Cyborg added. Bracing his argument, Victor said, "Look, I remember Trigon. I remember how he was some big, inter-galactic overlord. And I really remember that he was the kind of guy you didn't piss off. If this Asmodeus (_Kresk unconsciously vomited here_) is even tougher, it probably isn't a good idea to get him mad. He might just be a bully, but we're on his playground. I say we play along, but keep our guard up."

Beast Boy yelped, "Dude! Are you insane?! This is a trap, I can feel it! If we go in, we're never coming out. Cy, remember how you said this guy looks worse than Trigon? Well think about it. This guy is _worse_. Who knows what the crap sets him off? Trigon got mad when we were attacked him, and it's looking more and more like Asmo-whatever is getting mad at us for _living_. Walking into his home is walking into the lion's den."

"I feel I must side with Beast Boy in this matter." Starfire whispered. She looked at the Ashmede as she shivered, "This whole place is wrong, and I have no desire to see its lowest point. Who knows what it might do to us, or what else lives there? This is a place of evil, and I strongly urge that we leave as soon as possible." Raven looked down to the ground and closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath in the process. She finally reopened them, hushing, "Star, B.B…I'm sorry. But we're going. Robin and Cyborg are right. I'm as scared as you two right now, but I really don't want to, you know, tick off the source of all cosmic evil in the multiverse."

Starfire, fear in her eyes but with respect for the decision, bowed her head. Logan, on the other hand, growled, "What the crap are you thinking?! We're all gonna' get killed here!" In an uncharacteristic manner, Raven snapped, "Hey, who here has had two demonic inter-dimensional overlords for fathers? Is it you? No. I didn't think so. Trust me; I have a very vague sense of what I'm doing…" Beast Boy shut his mouth as the huddle loosened and Raven said to Martinet, "Alright, we agree."

The Voice of Hell never stopped smiling from the moment he met the Titans, but now his grin stretched to his ears and pressed his teeth together as he exclaimed, "Wonderful! Now, I'll just need each of your signatures here…" Martinet pointed to the line at the bottom of the crisp scroll. He pulled out his razor sharp pen, and held it out for the first Titan to sign. Raven wearily asked, "We don't have to sign in blood, do we?" The Constable of Perdition stifled a laugh, tittering, "Of course not. But if you want to…" Martinet trailed into silence as an Ashmede held up its scythe. When no one motioned for the detail, Raven stepped forward and signed her name at the bottom of the page in Abyssal, as defiance to whatever accountant fiend would have enough interest to see who Satan invited to dinner one night. Robin was next, then Cyborg, reluctant Starfire, then Beast Boy. He still held fast to the idea that this was all a bad idea, but Raven put no stock in it. Animals howl and scream at the presence of Hell, after all. Kresk was still lying on the ground, and Raven asked, "What about Kresk? Should we wake him up for you?"

"No, no, that is quite alright. The young master is already expected as of the present moment." Martinet had to be ancient indeed to refer to Kresk as 'young master'. At that, Martinet forced the parchment back into his baton. With one last infernal smile, the Voice of Hell ordered rather than told, "We will see you for dinner tonight." With a snap of his fingers, Martinet and the Ashmede disappeared back into the lowest bowels of Hell. A second later, Kresk gurgled and groaned from his stupor. He coughed out the vomit in his mouth as Raven stood at his side, kneeling by in case her healing expertise was needed. The Fire Demon smiled at the sight of his Apprentice as he plopped his head back to the ground, and coughed, "Oh, child of mine, methinks I have had a rare and terrible vision. I dreamed that we went to the Gates of Hell with your idiot friends, and I saw something…something too terrible to remember this early in the morning. Pray tell, why are you in my room?" Robin gave a slight ahem and Kresk leaned his neck to look at the four other Titans. It was then and only then that the demon noticed the absence of his bed, his room, indeed his whole reality. Kresk sprang up in a fright, hooves first. Raven very solemnly got off her knees as the demon continued to stutter, "Th- this is all part of the dream, right?! I just haven't woken up yet, right?! Right?! RIGHT?!" Without a smile or even a movement of her body, Raven shook her head. The color drained from Kresk's face again, and he started jabbering, "This is not my beautiful house! This is not my beautiful life! How did I get here?! How do I work this?! Am I right?! Am I wrong?! MY GOD! WHAT HAVE I DONE?! Same as it ever was! Same as it ever was! Same as it ever was! Same as it ever was! Same as it ever was! Same as it ever was! Same as it ever was! Same as it ever was!" Kresk was interrupted from his cranial chittering by a knock on the back of the head from Cyborg with his iron fist.

After a sharp, "Ow.", Kresk resumed panicking at Raven, "Okay, okay, I needed that. Now tell me exactly what happened." Raven maintained a cool demeanor as she said, "After you passed out, Martinet and the Ashmede –"

"Oh Pale Old Night! It was Martinet?! I thought it might have been an imitator or an image but the true Voice of Hell! What did he want? Our lives, our souls, to just torture us?! Gods below, WHAT DID HE WANT?!"

"…For us to come to dinner." There was a moment of perplexed silence as Kresk twitched his eye before fearfully asking, "D-dinner? Dinner with him, Voice of Hell,

The Devil's Chief of Secret Police? US?! He wanted this – this GANG to go eat with him, the Constable of Perdition itself?!" Raven, with a hint of sorrow that went unnoticed by the demon, said, "No." Breathing a heavy sigh, the Fire Demon said with relief, "Oh thank gods!" His young apprentice's silence told him that something worse was about to say, and the demon did not have the fortitude to brace himself for the next words. Raven cringed, "He gave us an invitation. To eat with Asmodeus to night…I agreed." The young psychic heard the distinct sound of CRACK somewhere in the older demon's psyche, and it's possible he may very well have fractured one of his own crystal eyes. Kresk sputtered and stuttered and hacked and wheezed before he yelled, "You WHAT?! You- you!" The demon let out a moan of conflicted sentiments of fear, pity, rage, and despair before he fell to his knees in a pile. By now one would assume that Kresk would be out of tears of blood to cry, but no, the fat crimson droplets continued to pour down his face. Raven tried to reassure the demon by saying, "We didn't have much choice. We couldn't say no, could we? I don't like it either, but he's Satan after all." With the same pallet of emotions embodied in his scream on his face, Kresk pleaded with the sorceress, "You pulled me into this?! You dragged me back into that gods-forsaken pit of shit?! How could you-"

"She did not pull you into anything, creature!" Starfire protested. Even Raven was a little annoyed by Kresk's angst and explained, "Star's right. Martinet said that Asmodeus was already expecting you. You're the one who screamed his name, and you're the one who came here in the first place. This is on you." Self-hatred and remorse from the Titan's words took control of Kresk, and clung at the hem of Raven's cloak as he sobbed, "Oh gods, you're right! You were always right! I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! You shouldn't be here! You shouldn't be he-" Kresk was once again interrupted by Cyborg, this time by a kick to the ribs. The automaton pulled Kresk off his feet and growled, "Listen! I don't know what is going on or why you're bitching so much about this, but GET IT TOGETHER! I've had it with you pissing vinegar and blood every second of this trip, and I thought I could stand you screaming like a kid. But this, THIS, watching you crawl on the ground, it just makes me sick! Now come on! We have to do this, and I'll be damned if we have to wait for you to get your thumb out of your angsty old butt! OKAY?!" Kresk regained some composure and tossed Victor's hand aside as he said, "Well of course we are! I don't know what you're problem is! I'm just expressing myself, alright! Now step aside, Tin Man, I have to get ready for dinner." Dusting off his robes, the Fire Demon walked into a nearby alley, followed by the sound of him wretching. Raven looked at Cyborg with a bit of admiration and said, "Wow. I've never seen anyone cut Kresk off like that before. That took skill."

"Courageous!"

"Way to go Cy!"

"Shut him up!"

Victor only smiled as he said, "Hey, he wasn't moving, and I was getting tired of waiting. I mean, come on, we've faced worse. We fought against Trigon, Slade, Tera, and Brother Blood. How hard can dinner be? It's like I said; we might be on his playground, but this Asmo guy is nothing but a bully." Quietly, yet fearfully, Raven pat Cyborg on his metal arm in reassurance. Starfire weakly smiled, saying to herself as much as the other Titans, "Courage will prevail. Just keep courage…"

Laughing, Beast Boy exclaimed vaingloriously, "Titans, TONIGHT, WE DINE IN HE-"

"Please don't finish that sentence. Because if you do finish that sentence, I'll have to kill you, and I really don't want anyone to die just yet." Raven said, raising a ball of shadow energy as an exclamation point. Silently, sickeningly, Kresk emerged from the alley, vomit on his sleeves, and slouched next to Raven, his eyes heavy and unblinking. Robin asked, "So, just how are we supposed to get to…wherever? Martinet didn't really give us much help there." Kresk weakly hissed, "Don't question Martinet! Gods only knows what he'll do if he's still listening! We might have to-"

The Fire Demon was cut short. The Titans were vaguely aware of everything becoming hazy as they were pulled somewhere, finding themselves outside of Vergaea when the world refocused. Kresk groaned, "Great." Raven stared at the town for a moment before she began to float away, saying, "Looks like we're hoofing it."

"You mean we have to the whole way?" Beast Boy whined, continuing with "What a gyp!" Kresk choked on a laugh, "Gyp? Ha! You don't even know the half of it! Now we get to wander the plain of Avernus, all the way to the center of the layer and the Pit. We'll only have to move across rivers of blood and fire, and the River Styx itself, and if we get past that, we can stroll through a rain of fireballs, meteorites, and ash. Oh, but it gets better; left and right, we'll be dodging armies of demons, devils, daemons, and possibly overzealous angels. But hey, it's smooth sailing once you hit the labyrinth of jagged rocks and canyons surrounding the Pit. You just have to somehow get past all the tens of thousands of traps set by Kurtulmak, god of war, mining, traps, and hatred. Ooh, and there are the thousands upon thousands of kobolds that serve Kurtulmak, they'll no doubt be running around tossing poison spears or shooting at us for our skins! And if we get past all that, we'll only, ONLY have to deal with Tiamat, the massive dragon goddess of destruction and evil! Yeah, she's been a little pissy since Marduk blasted her to bits and she had to put herself together piece by piece, but hey! Maybe if we dress up like girl scouts she'll just let us wander by! Is that a gyp?! Isn't that funny?! Isn't that HILARIOUS?!"

"…Well, you in drag sounds –"Before Garfield could finish in the eyes of the wrathful Kresk, Vergaea shook. The walls were cracking and crumbling around an edge tower of the wall, knocking off guards and sending devils flying. The tower broke away from the wall, leaving behind the below-ground floors and a clean wound on the defenses. As if it was crawling, the tower pushed through rocks and bones before it stopped in front of the Titans. Raven and Kresk sensed huge amounts of magic streaming off the structure. Slowly, the building turned until an open side faced the Titans, showing them a large room that may have been a sparring chamber for the troops of Hell. Cyborg grunted, "Huh. Guess that answers that." Victor stepped in first, the other Titans following. Kresk, fear once again flowing into his system (for he had hoped that the group would be forced to walk Avernus, and possibly make a run for it), wearily walked in, sniffing the air around him. At the Fire Demon's entrance, rocks from Avernus and a mix of ash and blood flew to the tower. The rocks arranged themselves, and the ash stood in as mortar. The last beams of light fell on Kresk's face, and the demon knew that this might well have been what awaited him on the last level of Hell. A stairway lined the wall of the room, and the top of the ascension was crowned by a door. The portal burst open, and a yellow light flowed outward. Nothing came in, no monster or ghost or devil, only an expectation. Robin scouted ahead before the other Titans could move. He was gone barely a minute before he signaled that it was safe for his companions. Another set of stairs greeted the Titans as they went up, and soon they were in a simple room with numerous windows. Shelves and tables had been knocked down; chairs thrown against the walls, papers and what looked like spoiled meat writhed on the floor.

Victor started looking around as he said, "So, do we drive this thing? I mean, I don't know the first thing about magic, but we need some kind of energy to move or we'll just sit here." Starfire screamed as she stared out the window. The rest of the company rushed forward to see what elicited the fright. Moving across the plain, its footsteps shaking the ground with weight, was a giant. No, more than a giant, a being so huge and powerful there could only be one name for it. What lumbered across that field of blood and sorrow was a Titan. _A TRUE Titan_. The beast looked miserable. Its powerfully muscled body was naked, covered in dried blood, gore, cracked flesh, and scars. Chains pierced its skin in any variety of hooks and spears. Its eyes and mouth were sewn shut by barbed wire, and its ears stuffed with what looked like massive caltrops. All over and through its flesh, lesser devils crawled and nibbled and stung. Four erinyes flew overhead, the children of fallen angels with bronze wings and ruby eyes. They carried a massive chain that connected to hooks on the Titan's back. As the erinyes drew nearer, they summoned forth spikes of energy. The Titan stood in grim, blind silence, and imp tormenting its ear. The fallen angels drove the spikes into the chains, connecting them to the rock. In a second, the stakes

were shards of crystal. Not even sighing, the Titan pulled, and screamed through his shut mouth as his flesh and bones bent and tore as he dragged the tower.

The tower moved, leaving behind a wake in the dirt and rock. And all the while, the Titan bellowed through his shut mouth, and tried to pour tears from his sewn eyes. The four erinyes flew down to the massive body, and joined the imps clawing at his skin and nails. And yet, there was always the sound, always the cry coming from the colossal mouth. This was a Titan. Long ago, the gods made him and his species but a step below them, just on the cusp of demigod status, and named them after their own forebears. They were warriors, consorts, friends, enemies, brothers, sisters, servants, proxies; they were what filled in the blank spaces of a pantheon, from Aesir to the Celestial Bureaucracy. He had been glorious once. He had danced in the fields of Elysium and hunted gryphons on the peaks of Hyperborea. He had a wife, children, a god, an army…but now they were gone. Dead, alive, it didn't matter; he was nothing now but a plaything to the King of Hell. And try to scream as he might, try to yell out for help or for his god's aid, try as he might to shed a tear, he was incapable of anything but the task given him. He had made the mistake of interfering in the Blood War, of trying to fight Satan himself on the devil's own term. He could still remember the sentence on the day of his loss, whispered from the Serpent's Throne, "As thou hast carried the hopes of thy followers, thus shall ye carry the despair of mine enemies."

And so the Titan did the only thing he could do. He took all the frustration, all the longing and rage and pains and despair and put them at the bottom of his gut. And when he couldn't hold the feeling anymore, he let the ball of sound out as a wail for days on end. And the cry was heard for miles across Hell. Angels wept at it, demons laughed at it, and devils lapped it up like cats to milk. It ran through the rocks and the dirt and the stone of buildings. And now it ran through Starfire, moving through her bones into her muscles and flesh, and soon it touched her heart. From there, that sound, that hideous mournful sound, came out as a stream of tears. Kori couldn't contain herself for long. The trickle became a river, and soon the Tameranian was sobbing inconsolably. She grabbed the nearest thing she could find, and cried into its shoulders. All Garfield could do was pat her shoulder with a green hand while he whimpered, "Dude…this is just…this is just sick." Victor watched in horrified fascination as skin tore to reveal stitches of iron and thorn over raw bones. Feeling his own arms to make sure vines of metal didn't intrude, he could say nothing. A small tear came to Raven's eye before she bowed and prayed in Draconic, "Si ulnot ihk wux, urathear vrak." Sickened, Robin watched the proud beast trudge along, practically falling to his knees. He wanted to be like Star or Raven; he wanted to cry for the Titan. But all he could do was pity it and mourn it. He recognized forces too great to understand, just like the others, but only he was brave enough to acknowledge it. Richard quietly said, "There's nothing we can do for him…I think…I think those monsters are ready to kill anything that gets too near to him. All we can do is…hope for him. What is he? A giant?"

Even Kresk had lost his sense of mockery in the face of the Titan as he said to Robin, "Don't you recognize one of your own, Titan? This is where you pull your name from. More than giants, just a little less than a god. He was a divine servant. Looks like this one fell to the Blood Mandate."

"The Blood Mandate?"

"Ancient, ancient laws, founded before some of the Lords of the Nine were even born. At its core, it simply states that deities are prohibited from directly interfering in the Blood War. They can lend support through clerics or donated souls, or they could boost the power of favored fighters, but no direct interference. Whenever a god or one of its servants chooses to directly involve itself in the Blood War, there can only be one solution. And you're looking at it." The Titan howled again, and somewhere an erinyes cackled at its suffering. Kresk looked away, and raised his hand to the gap. Bricks and mortar filled in the hole until nothing could be seen or heard of the giant outside. Kresk warned, "It's only an illusion. Unless you want to see more of him, I suggest you keep away from it. There's no telling how long the trip is going to take. I…I need a moment alone. Just to put some things in order." The Fire Demon slumped to a broken staircase, and with some effort crawled onto a ledge and disappeared upstairs. Morbidly, the other Titans moved about thinking, quaking, and wondering about the situation.

Cyborg began to pace back and forth. His footsteps kicked up dust and rang through the floorboards. After a while, Victor calmed down and walked to a table. He ran his hands along the wooden surface, his fingers even then transmitting schematics and physical information to his hard-drive. There was a dormant, sub-conscious part of the automaton. Garfield had to tend to the Beast, Raven the Demon, but Victor contended with the Machine. This aspect was quiet, calculating, logical, and completely infallible. It was what gave Victor his dreams and nightmares, his soul and heart, but it was always separate from those things. The Machine always came out in the subtlest ways. It was when Cyborg found himself typing in binary, measuring statistics nobody asked, or perceiving the world around him in code. One of the lesser manifestations was a constant fascination with engineering; the size of an arch, the length of a plank of wood, the year of a car. All these things immediately seemed to grab the Machine's interest. Cyborg was actually a little disappointed at the current moment. He had come to another dimension expecting some remarkable design or incredible feat of mechanics. Instead, everything seemed to be based of human works. There was a possibility it was the other way around, and the Machine preached the validity of the message, but either way, Victor was foiled. Raven stood next to him in a moment, and said, "How you holding up?" Cyborg looked at her with his human eye and responded, "Honestly…not so good. Do we really have to do all this? I mean, I just wish that this Asmo-guy would cut the crap and get us to his castle or pit or mansion or whatever. All this theatrics…it's just tedious. You know?"

"I can understand that. But that's how devils do things. They insist on putting on this air of grandeur, no matter what they do or where they are. They're trying to imitate mortals, trying to understand how the mind works. But it comes out flawed, corrupted, just wrong."

"Kind of like if a city was built in the Uncanny Valley?"

"…Sort of."

"I really hadn't noticed anything…Do you think that's a bad sign?"

"What?"

"Me not noticing how messed up everything is here? Not the devils and the society, I get that. They're evil. And pretty deep into it too. But it's the other stuff. How everything just looks counterfeit. Even this table and the walls look like someone just made them out of an idea. And I didn't even notice it until you brought it up. And the more I look around, the more how I see it in everything else. Like those wires on the giant out there? They look like they were grown. Not made, just grown. But what gets to me is how long it's taking me to notice all this. What happens if I just _stop_ noticing it altogether?"

"That won't happen. There's too much Victor in there to get overridden by a micro-chip. Besides, you're taking this all better than Kresk is, and he's been here before."

"Eh, I wouldn't worry about him. I say this is all a joke, a big prop. Like you said, 'air of grandeur' and crap."

_**At that precise moment, in a room upstairs…**_

Quietly, the shadows fled. Quietly, the shadows returned. Silently, the coin slipped to one end of the hand. Silently, it slithered back to the other end. Kresk sat in the dark store-room, his mind trying to burst out of his skull in a thousand different directions. Always one option kept coming up, always the last resort. It was desperate, and there was a chance it would fail. He could lose everything, become as nothing again. But if Asmodeus got his hands on him first…he would pray for nothing. The demon sat in the dark room, using his left hand to ignite and extinguish a fireball, lighting and darkening the chamber every few seconds. In his other hand, Kresk slid his lucky silver coin of Judas between his fingers. His mouth was just a line, not a frown or grin or scream, only a blank line tightly concealing his teeth. Occasionally, another tear of blood poured down his cheek, a slow red line that dropped on his robes. An invisible voice the Fire Demon had conjured sang Puccini's 'Nessum Dorma', the aria passing right through Kresk. Despite the mournful voice, the shadows appeared and disappeared, quietly as ever.

_**Back downstairs…**_

Demurely, Robin sat at a table, pretending to fidget with some gadget or another. There was nothing wrong with it, and if there was, the Boy Wonder wouldn't have made any progress. Something about the giant outside shook him. He just couldn't seem to place his finger on it, but it was just...unnerving. He pressed too hard on a panel. Some piece of plastic or cheap metal broke apart and snapped onto the table surface. Groaning, Richard hit his head against the table. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on why the Titan kept coming back to him, but it always seemed to slip his grasp. Somehow, other things kept intruding. Red X, Slade, Tera, Bruce, the circus, his parents, the fear in Star's eyes…no single thought. Just the slimy movements of an eel across his brain. "Maybe you should let Cy handle that." Robin lifted his head. Raven was sitting across from him, an eyebrow raised in a suggestion as much as a question. Robin sighed again before he said, "You're probably right." There was a moment of silence while Raven cross-examined the pugilist. The mage finally said, "You're troubled." Nervously, Richard said, "You just can't drop the psychic bond thing, can you?"

"No. Want to talk about it?"

"I don't know. This place…It's just not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Trigon. Fire. Pain. Armies. War. I guess that isn't so different from what we've seen but the reality…it's like it hurts. And that thing outside, the Titan or whatever…it's got me thinking."

"About?"

"…Well look at it. He was the best, a soldier for his god or whatever. He tried doing his best, and now look at him. Tortured, beaten, screaming… I'm only a little piece of what he is, and I've done so much worse. Is this what's here for me? Is this all I can look forward to? I don't…don't want to be like that. I've done a lot of bad things, but I tried doing them for a good reason. I hate to admit it but this place, well, it scares me."

"I think you're overreacting."

"How could I possibly be overreacting? The giant outside is here, and he did good all his life! Now look at him! I've crossed the line so many times that-"

"You can always go back. No one is ever too far gone."

"What if I am? What if it's too late for me?"

"Richard…calm down. The first thing you have to realize is that your comparisons are way off. You made mistakes; big ones, but still mistakes. The Titan outside literally bull-rushed the palace-fortress of Satan himself. Not metaphorically, not spiritually, but literally physically tried to assault the King of Hell. You. Haven't. Second, I think you're giving Slade too much credit. You're comparing an aging mercenary who had to pick on teenagers for kicks to the cosmic source of evil in the multiverse. Old guy with half a face and probably some pedophilia issues does not equal The Devil. Not a devil. THE Devil. And don't you think it's a little egotistical to compare yourself to a demigod?"

"Well…"

"Besides. The Titan probably made mistakes too. You know, aside from the 'try to tackle Asmodeus' one. We all mess up. But if there's anything that my (_random Abyssal swears_) fathers have taught me, it's that no one is beyond redemption. There's always a way to go back. Things might be different, but there's always a way."

_**Back upstairs…**_

It was times like this that Kresk liked to remind himself of the dogmas of gods like Shiva or Loki. 'Meet the end with a smile'. Easy for them to say; they were both greater gods. Even Loki's imprisonment hadn't spoiled his spirits. Apparently, his avatars and aspects ran around, free as the wind, not a care in the world, occasionally wiping a tear of poison from their eyes. Kresk, on the other hand, was barely a full demon. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Kresk stood on top of the boxes he had found, and tossed his conjured rope over a rotting beam. When the other end dangled in front of him, the demon did his best to delicately work it into a noose. The Fire Demon hummed to himself,

"_Loop-de-loop and round and round,_

_So my feet won't touch the ground."_

_**Downstairs…**_

Starfire stared at the invisible wall that Kresk had created. Beyond it, she knew the Titan was still bleeding and screaming and crawling through the wastes of Avernus. The words of the hideous thing she had met in Vergaea kept coming back to her. Outside, something was suffering. The Tameranian had done so much, fought so many horrible evils so valiantly, and yet still something suffered. The pain spread across the infinite multiverses, through rifts and portals, tainting everything it touched with blood. The princess had been so stupid, piddling her time with little gimmick villains and theme thieves. And what had she done when true monsters raised their heads? What had she done in the face of Trigon and Slade and Brother Blood? She had worried about Robin, Raven, and Cyborg. She feared for their lives, and yet the reason why was so obvious now. The reason had finally become so clear to her now. Not a single one of those times had the Tameranian been thinking about her friends' well being. She had only been concerned that her companions might die and leave a vacancy for her to fill. She was thinking only of how she would feel if they departed. Otherwise, why wasn't she there? Why wasn't she being tortured for her friends? Why wasn't she writhing in lava or being mind raped? She should have done so much more. How could she be so selfish, thinking of others?

Outside, something truly was suffering. This was her chance, her chance to really start righting the wrong. Starfire knew she would stop the pain, make it all end for the poor Titan. She couldn't let it suffer, not at the behest of some obese demon. The erinyes and imps would tear her apart, but still… The princess stretched her hand, hesitantly, to the illusory wall. She wouldn't be of any use to anybody dead. But there was a chance she could live, and a greater chance at martyrdom. But death sounded painful.

"I wouldn't do that." Raven said. She interrupted Starfire and her perverted moral tug-of-war. Star didn't look at the cambion, or even withdraw her hand. She only froze as the mage said again, "It won't do any good for him. I know you want to help, but trust me, there's nothing you can do. The Tameranian finally dropped her hand, and let her eyes wander to the floor. Star only whispered, "I know." Crossing her arms, Raven sternly asked, "Just what were you trying to do? You couldn't take on all those devils, even with us helping." Tears welled up in Star's eyes again as she said, "I…I know. I just had to try…"

"We can't help everybody, Star. Someone always has to get left behind."

"Then what is the point?! What is the point if there is always death?! It means we have failed! It means we are wrong!"

"Star, we do the best we can. I don't-"

"Our best is not good enough, then! What do we do? We go and fight small criminals and little villains who are more like clowns! The true evil is outside, is all around us! We have been so blind. I have been so blind. All I have ever done is ignore the cries of others over my own. And all the while, we have not even made a dent; we have not even aided the world a little bit. We are useless."

"We do more than you think, Star. You have to see the big picture. If we didn't go out and do our job everyday, who would?"

"Someone who should. Someone who would not waste their time eating and sleeping and watching the television. Someone who would do more."

"You don't think we do enough?"

"No! We have let so many go! Who are we to decide who suffers and who does not? It is wrong! If we are to save people, we should try and save them all!"

"Star, you can't save them all. If you try, you'll only burn out. And throwing yourself into the fire won't keep everyone else from burning with you."

"Then…then how are we supposed to do the right thing? How are we supposed to help if there is always pain?"

"You have to trust people, Kori. You have to believe in them. You have to believe that they can save themselves." Starfire was silent for a moment. She had so rarely heard Raven use her true name. The half-demon made her friend look into her lavender eyes. Quietly, the mage said, "I don't know what's wrong with you, and I probably can't help you, but I can promise you this. We do more in a day for the world then most people do in their lives. And out of all of us, you do the most, even if you don't realize it. What you do is more than enough."

Kori looked up with emerald eyes as she said, "You really think so?" Half-smiling, Raven said, "Yes. Don't worry. We'll find a way to help the Titan somehow. We just have to be brave."

Kresk burst through the ceiling. There was no forewarning, no sound of creaking or thumping. There was only the sudden, banging, crack as the upper floor exploded. Then, once the dust was clear, all that was left was Kresk. He was lying with his eyes closed, facing towards the ceiling. Below him was what used to be beams, planks, poles, boxes, and a chair. A snapped rope was around the Fire Demon's neck. Opening his eyes, Kresk looked at the hole in the ceiling, and bluntly muttered, "Crap."

When the dust had at last cleared, the Titans ceased their inadvertent cringing. Even Raven had quickly drawn up a shield, just in case the explosion was some unwanted intrusion. Robin, hatefully staring at Kresk, said, "What was that?!" The Fire Demon, without even looking up, blurted out, "Death. Or at least a shot at." Horrified, Beast Boy said, "Wha- Are you really that scared of this Asmo-guy? I mean you were really trying to kill yourself just then?!" Looking at the beams ahead, Kresk said, "Yep. Last shot out, too. That was the only good hanging-beam in the whole tower." Indignant, Cyborg practically bellowed, "You moron! Do you know what could've happened if you pulled down the support beam?! We all could have died! You're really ready to throw everybody's life away to get out of eating with Asmo?!"

"No. No, that's not it at all, is it Kresk?" A quiet, sharp voice came from Raven. There were signs that something was going on inside her. A vein twitched on her left temple. A strand of hair disheveled itself. Her cloak was wrapped tightly around her, yet anyone could see her shoulders were tensing. The cambion quietly explained, "He wasn't trying to die. He was trying to run. If he dies here, then his soul will go back to the Abyss and he'll be safe there for at least a century. You were willing to risk the erinyes and imps outside just to get out of dinner. You were honestly hoping that you could fly through Hell, unhindered, back to your domain."

Without so much as a glance, Kresk clicked his finger toward Raven and said, "Points to the super-chick."

"And in return," Raven began to snarl, "You were going to leave us all behind. You were going to abandon us to the King of Hell just to save your own fat skin! Is that right?! Have I earned another point?! You were going to let us die while you sat at home and smoked a gods-damned cigar! That was the plan the moment you came in here, wasn't it?! The moment you saw a beam, you were going to throw us to the lions and run! You were going to leave us! You were going to leave ME!" Kresk was now looking up, a new expression of horror on his face. The other Titans backed away as Raven metamorphosized. Right or wrong, Raven was about to hurt something. Her eyes shifted to serpentine slants, claws of umbra started jutting off her fingers, and her shadow almost looked like it had wings. Fangs barred, the cambion gave a battle growl to the old demon. Kresk begged, "R- Raven! Raven, calm down now! I knew you would get out! I would've sent someone for you! I swear on the Styx I was going to save you! I-"

"Shut up. Raven isn't here right now. There's only you, and me."

"It's not my-"

"DIE, FAT ONE!" Raven lunged at Kresk. The Fire Demon tried raising his arms, but he was too slow. The younger tanar'ri gripped her claws firmly around the elder's throat. Her fingers could barely fit around his fat neck, and she was clawing at the still attached noose to try and pierce skin. Kresk wheezed, "I'm sorry! I'm…sorry!" The other Titans finally rushed over (they had felt no need to hurry) and pulled Raven off. Starfire had to use her prodigious strength to keep the dark mage from escaping. The mage finally calmed down. Her claws returned to hands, and her eyes reverted to their humanoid state. She panted as Cyborg said, "Raven, you shouldn't have done that. You really shouldn't have."

"I know. I'm sorry, I just lost-"

"No, you shouldn't have done that because YOUR HANDS ARE TOO WEAK!" Turning right around, Victor placed his cold, iron gauntlets on Kresk's neck. This time, the huge fingers were able to grip around each other, and Cyborg distinctly felt bone beneath the fat. All the while, Victor distinctly barked, "NOBODY! SCREWS! ME! OVER!" Kresk started to gurgle up acidic blood before Victor stopped. Raven formed a shadow claw and pulled Cyborg off with little resistance. Kresk started spurting tears of blood, once again sobbing compulsively. He rolled to his side, hiding his face in his claws. The Titans stared with disgust, save for Raven, who had a crooked look of pity before she said, "Get up." All the Fire Demon could do was cry more. Gently, with a shadow claw, Raven grabbed Kresk by the hem of his robes. Half commanding the rebel, she sternly said, "You shouldn't have done that Kresk. You shouldn't have tried to leave us. Did you even think about what you were doing?" The Fire Demon bellowed, "NO! But I would've come back, I swear!"

"And what would I have done, Kresk? Go confront Asmodeus alone? Try to run from the Ashmede and Martinet? What would we have done without you? What would I have done without you?"

"I don't –"

"And where would you have been? What if you got lost on Pazunia? What if the Gate Keeper or and Astral Reaver got to you before I did? What if you became a dretch, or worse? Where would you be then, hm?"

"OH GODS! RAVEN, I'M SO SORRY!" The demon crawled on his stomach, literally crawled with only his two claws to the feet of his apprentice. He wrapped himself around her ankles and cried, "You just don't know what it's like! You don't know what he'll do to me! What he'll do to you! I- I'M SCARED, RAVEN! I DON'T WANNA DIE! He tortures you for millennia! Ages and ages and ages, until you can't remember who or what you are or what you're name is! I can't let that happen, not again, not to me or you! I'M SORRY!"

"Kresk, get a hold of yourself. You're not going to die. We're all in this together."

"It shouldn't be that way! It shouldn't work like that! You have so much life, so many chances, so many opportunities! I'm old! You don't deserve this! You don't deserve a fat bastard like me to do this to you! Go on! LEAVE ME! Run! I'll take the Ashmede! Go live your life! Sing! Dance! Run! Breathe! Love! Go! Go and find your itovier! Find them and have beautiful children together! But every night, tell them a story! Tell them the story of how their grand-uncle Kresk stormed into Malsheem, all guns blazing, ready to fight the King of Hell with nothing but his bare fists! Don't tell them the truth! Don't let them know that I collapsed on the patio and crapped myself with my own blood!" Gently, Raven removed her ankles from the demon's arms. Looking into his eyes, she once again cooed, "Kresk, I'm not going to leave you. Not now, anyway. I told you, we're in this together. I'm going to see Asmodeus; are you coming with me?" Lip trembling, Kresk looked at Raven and squeaked, "Yes." There was a moment of quiet as Raven steadied herself for her next words, "Then I forgive you. I can't speak for the others –"

"Persvek uoinota astahii shilta valignat."

"- or even all of me, but I forgive you. And if you truly want to make it up to me, if you really want to show that you're sorry, you'll do something for me. You'll march in to that throne-room, look Asmodeus in the eye, sit through dinner, and without a tear, leave."

"…I-I'll try."

"Good."

Raven got up, and psychically pulled Kresk with her. The other Titans glared at her with confusion or anger, and the cambion shot them look right back. Her eyes slit, a low growl came from within Raven's throat. The other Titans dispersed as Raven dragged Kresk to his pile of rubble again. As the demon made his nest, drifting to unconsciousness, Raven sat down and meditated, and heard voices in the back of her head.

"_That…that was beautiful Kindness."_

"_Thank you, Patience, although Temperance and Wisdom deserve some credit as well."_

"You shouldn't be so easy on him." Another voice interrupted. Robin was now sitting next to Raven, not deigning to glance at her or Kresk. Richard continued, "He tried to leave us, tried to leave you. That just feels low. He doesn't deserve someone-"Raven tightly gripped Robin's face as she forced him to stare into her eyes and she snapped, "Quiet. I've forgiven a lot of your crap over the years, along with everybody else's. You should understand by now. I've passed off a lot worse from a lot more, and those were my bad days. And you can kindly tell everybody else who has anything to say about it that they've all done worse. And if you ever speak on this matter again, I will do things to your mind they don't even names for. Is that clear?" Richard nodded his head before Raven finally yipped, "Now get." and shoved him away. As Robin moved off, still adjusting his jaw bone, he looked at her again and said, "I don't know you could go against us so fast." The half-demon only smiled, "I'm not against you, I'm against hypocrisy. If he doesn't deserve forgiveness, then neither do you." Robin shuffled off, the words still stinging. Nearby, Cyborg and Beast Boy were at a loss for words. They didn't like Kresk, but Robin was acting like a jerk, and Raven had just pulled a good punch back there… The two quietly looked away as Robin joined them at a table.

Raven returned to staring at a window. The room was silent, and yet still nobody noticed the icebergs outside. Yes, icebergs. They were close, Raven knew. They had somehow been dragged to the eighth layer of Hell, Cania. A frozen wasteland, home to ice devils and fallen angels, it was literally Hell frozen over. A dark shape moved in front of the window. Raven recognized it by the shock of white hair. Sticking to form, the Demon did not look at Raven, always keeping her face away from her material double. Everything-She-Should-Have-Been hissed, "You should have let me kill him." Raven wasn't in the mood for an argument with a figment of her personality, so she only said, "We need him." The Demon chuckled as she said again, "YOU don't need anybody, sweet Raven. All you need is yourself, and me."

"It's interesting how you threw yourself in there at the last second."

"Like I said, you and I can't be separated. We are one and the same. You need me like I need you. How do you know you can trust him now?"

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"By trusting yourself."

"I learned a long time ago that I can't."

"Then that is where we are different."

"True…Thank you, though."

"For what?"

"Sometimes even the Old Demon needs a good slap on the wrist…or claw on the throat." The Demon giggled at this. She prostrated herself, blocking the window as she said, "He's right though."

"About what?"

"That you should be scared. I am. I fear for you now more than anytime I ever have in our life."

"I suppose this means you'll be hanging around for a while, right?" The Demon flashed her yellow eyes at Raven, letting her hair hide the rest of her face. It was clear to Raven though that the creature was smiling as she giggled, "Only until dessert."

There was a sudden lurch as the tower and the Titan halted. Kresk woke with a start, and every all the other meta-humans stood up. The Demon had scampered back to her burrow in Raven's mind. The clouds outside were dark again, and nothing could be seen but wasteland as Raven looked outside. Kresk moved beside the cambion as she walked downstairs. The other Titans joined them, and for a long time they all stared at the magnificence before them. For a long time, the Titans only had eyes for Malsheem and Kresk finally blurted out, "Boils and ghouls, the crap has officially been scared out of me."

* * *

**Once again, if I offended you, I'm sorry. Take into account that demonic suicide is rather different from mortal suicide. It's really a dangerous way of plane-hopping. Still, it's a risky business. Friends, if you suspect a demon you love is contemplating suicidal migration, call an exorcist. They'll work much faster.**

**And sorry if that offended you as well. Now, down to business. If you thought this latest chapter sucks or if you hate me for being late, the reason is singular. Children of the Night, I have failed in obtaining a lock of Alan Moore's busy mountain-man beard. God help us all.**

**Vote in the poll thing. Valentine's isn't too far off, so I ought to be churning out a romance some time soon. And finally, I'm gonna try and get a good Halloween story this year. Wish me luck!**

**And keep the fires burning! Winter's here, and I'm freezing my butt off...**


	8. Dinner

**I'm a b-b-b-b-b-b-b-back, baby! **

* * *

"_Please allow me to introduce myself,_

_I'm a man of wealth and taste…"_

- Guns N' Roses (Rolling Stones), _Sympathy for the Devil_

"_Farewell, happy fields,  
Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,  
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,  
Receive thy new possessor—one who brings  
A mind not to be changed by place or time.  
__The mind is its own place, and in itself  
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.__  
What matter where, if I be still the same,  
And what I should be, all but less than he  
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least  
We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built  
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:  
Here we may reign secure, and in my choice  
to reign is worth ambition though in Hell:  
__Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven."_

- John Milton, _Paradise Lost (Book I: Lines 258-263)_

_

* * *

_

Forget Bara-Dur. Forget the Death Star. Forget Gondor and Isengard and every other fantastic castle or fortress you have ever seen. They are nothing. Standing next to what rested in front of the Titans at that moment, they are tacky, imitation, plastic lawn-gnomes displayed to try and distract wandering eyes from crab-grass. Black stone that could only be called 'obsidian' in a brief mortal attempt at comprehension rose into the air as a thick and mighty pillar for miles, disappearing into the clouds. Spikes, perfectly clear and sharp, moved out and then up like a leviathan's teeth, their rectangular sides honed to perfection. Practically crawling in their realism, gargoyles of every shape and size glared and watched, their dead eyes mocking and their hideous, wide open maws sneering. Between the terrible facades, the corpses and bones of thousands, if not millions of beings rotted and decayed, stagnating in the dry winds of Nessus. Towards the top, almost in the firmament that consumed the tower, three golden angels were crucified, their crosses facing down, their hands wrapped in barb wire, and their entrails dangling into their faces. And still, this was not the top.

Indeed, this was not even a tower.

This was a decorative pillar that added a certain feng-shui to the place.

Another pillar, identical to this one, rose up from the ground to flank a bridge wide enough for a herd of Behemoth walk across it. Either side of the bridge was lined with a tall parapet, stones like jagged teeth crowning the wall. The tiles were octagons, and the bridge led to a tremendous door. The portal was colossal, easily over two hundred feet tall. Each façade was encircled with a carving of never-ending razor vines. Between the hideous weeds, angels fell from Heaven, with its gold and silver spires resting on clouds pregnant with holy rain, and devils flew from the blackest, deepest, and most crooked pits of Baator to invade the Holy City. In between, seraphs fought their falling kin, devils rose to grab and assault descending archons, cherubim wielded flaming swords against the fiends, demon and fallen dueled, the lapsing empyreans turned on one another, only to be mimicked by baatezu consuming each other. Down in the pits, the fallen angels were subjected to the lash and the brand and the rack. But those who broke and sided with the hellions indulged in all manner of pleasure let the corruption of the flesh dance against their tender skins. And for each archon that submitted, a crown had been carved onto their heads. Almost poetically, an erinyes reached toward her angel lover, both obstructed by the separation in the door. There, in the highest Paradise, the throne of the Almighty had been carved empty and deserted, engulfed in flames. All that was left was gold letters that were no known language at first, but rearranged themselves to read:

"**Illic est haud Olympus tamen Abyssus; **

**Illic es haud angelus tamen is prosapia; **

**Illic est haud Deus tamen quis lies ultra illa ianua. **

**Suus manus manus quod virga rector nos totus; **

**Laus Diabolus! Atrum Senior quod Vinco!"**

Rising into the air, seemingly forever, the main castle blocked any vision further. As far as the eye could see to the east and west the fortress continued, and ascending for miles and miles, the base could dwarf the largest of mountains with ease. It is impossible to describe how truly BIG the castle was, for no god or mortal could ever dream of seeing the barricade in its entirety. Like some ebony shroud, it almost marked off a section of Nessus from existence. It was practically a dimension in and of itself, with only the thick outer walls to block entry. The levees themselves were very similar to the pillars, being composed mostly of what might be called massive stone blades that rose up and out like huge axes or halberds. As with the pillar, gargoyles of every shape and form laughed and stared, biting and torturing sinners, their gem eyes contrasting the mighty black obsidian around them. Each section of the facade told a story, an epic, a tale about some fool who sought to outwit or outmatch the forces of Perdition, and met doom. Saint or beggar, king or leper, little differentiation was made. Unnervingly, whenever the eye focused on a single area, everything around seemed to writhe and move. Between the grotesques, windows, either stain-glass and barred, and artillery slots opened up for the fortress' prestigious defenses. And given that there was at least one slot per square foot in most areas, the area surrounding the front gate alone had guards numbering in the thousands. Higher up, platforms and stairs could be seen breaking through the walls, only to dig back in like burrowing worms. The base tapered into hundreds of spires and towers, all dancing around a single one that was gargantuan enough to conceal a solar system. Clouds swirled around the top of this monolith, forestalling the whereabouts of just how far the column truly rose. The nimbuses themselves were huge, black, hideous shapes, pitch colored monstrosities that seemed to chase each other forever in a constant torrent, howling out a cold and fecund wind. Occasionally, one of these hurricane sized beasts unleashed a crimson lightning storm that only barely touched the structure itself, and slithered off into the air. All around the building, the land was a dry brown-red, with rock hard as iron. No plants grew from the ground, save for incredibly rare patches of dead grass and weeds. Tearing across the land, massive scars of phenomenal proportions, canyons and trenches that would put the Marianas and the Grand Canyon to shame made their way across the land. One such furrow surrounded the castle, a moat that descended deep enough that galaxies could be held between its walls. Down, down, down, it dropped, ever deeper and farther into the hideous blackness of the plane, never seeming to have an actual bottom. A god would die of divine starvation long before they were even a fraction towards the bottom. Such trenches were all around the plane, hidden beneath the dahlia clouds and the ruby sky. In the distance, mountains that made Everest seem like a rolling slope scratched against the heavens, practically breaching one layer of Hell for another. Their peaks were covered in a pale ice, and more of the dark smog pervaded the palisades. It was everything you could have ever imagined a villain to have, ever glorious cliché an evil mastermind was required of but done not just adequately, but shining, and it instilled such evil and horror that even the most dread powers in the multiverse knew why they called Satan the Adversary. The fortress was the greatest on all the planes, in all creation; the glorious and terrible Malsheem, residence to the Serpent himself. The plane was the birth-place of a thousand apocalypses, the cradle to an army of Pit Fiends and Armageddon beasts, the unfettered sanctuary of the true powers of Perdition; this was the wasteland of Nessus.

Staring at Malsheem, the Titans were all but silent in panic, and Kresk felt his mouth begin to drop open as tears of blood rolled down his face. And even in the mighty hills of Nessus, devils could hear the demon's prolonged cry of anguish at that moment. "What…what is it?" Beast Boy asked. He had never before seen, smelled, or even heard something that assaulted all of his bestial senses, making every last one of his form want to turn and run, and yet cradle themselves in hopes that the predator might pass away. Within a beat, Kresk whispered, "Malsheem… the Serpent's Throne… Sessio Diabolus."

"-He's- in there. This is his castle, his fortress. This is where he does his work from." Raven explained. There was a quiet, a deep and solemn sound of frightful anticipation. Robin finally voiced, "Well... we've come this far. It's not like there's any turning back." The leader of the Titans and his troupe moved over the rock of Malsheem, and managed to place a single foot on the chasm-spanning bridge that led to the decorated gates before a sound met their ears. From inside the Malsheem, the echoes of hundreds, if not thousands of weapons of artillery loading resounded. Artillery, and just about all weaponry for that matter, advanced with the layer of Hell. (Avernus, a plane of absolute war, excluded of course.) On the second layer, Dis, flintlocks and rapiers were still the weapons of choice. By Stygia, the fifth layer, modern weaponry was a bit more in fashion. And by Nessus, indestructible ray-based objects that were so advanced they may have been called 'magic', to a degree, were the standard. As such, the favored artillery were the somewhat revolutionary Radiance-Shots, which could best be described as long-range crossbows that unleashed multiple plasma shots on a target. The advantage to the Radiance-Shots was the ammunition lingered for a time, inflicting damage over the course of several minutes and providing an obstacle for not only the target, but anything that might come into contact. The disadvantage was of course the need to reload more shots, and the overall fragility of the piece compared to the more standard blaster. This was, of course, but a sampling of the technology within Malsheem; all at once diabolical, futuristic, and archaic. The more common guns were not particularly unique items, ranging the usual gamut; snipers, rifles, shot-guns, machine guns, pistols, etc. Each one moved like a little cog, each one had a place and a devil that had been training all its life with the item, that had probably received the base components while it was still a mewling lemure and had been working its way up all its life. At this layer in Hell, of course, light, plasma, ion, and proton based artillery was mandatory. Baatorian technology was not a grand, flourishing thing. Of course, devils and nobles personalized their items, especially if they served them well. But most followed the philosophy of Kurtulmak and his kobold horde; a crooked bar works just as well as a straight one. As such, the design of just about everything was a blunt, square, unimaginative theme, easily and affordably replicated. If a soldier or a noble wanted to be creative, wanted to embellish or design a new look, they either had to buy or earn it. It was a testament to Asmodeus that nothing in Malsheem was unadorned with some kind of floridity.

Still creeping forward, feeling the cold reptilian eyes from inside crawl along them, the Titans moved forward. The massive gate was imposing, a nearly impossible thing to open. To even attempt entrance felt like a mix of a suicide and destruction of the portal's perfect artwork. There was no knocker, no bell, no other way to indicate how to contact the dark rooms beyond the thick stone door. Cyborg finally piped up, "So how do we get in? I'm gonna' be honest, I don't really trust anything here enough to actually -touch- some freaky looking door..."

"Maybe it needs a command word?" Robin thought out loud, some kind of password that Martinet had neglected to mention for amusement's sake. Starfire tried squeaking, "Friend?" The other Titans looked at her puzzlingly, expecting 'friend' to be followed by a name, as usual. The Tameranian only sheepishly replied, "I had heard of another gate where if one speaks 'friend' they may enter."

"No." Was the stiff reply from Kresk. Up above, Cyborg tried to analyze the words written above. He didn't actually know Latin, he left it to the programming in his mind. But the problem came in that the words refused to be scanned. The letters shifted in order and alphabet whenever anything other than his own good human eye tried to read them. Raven was already running through her various spells and invocations that might contact someone for help, decipher a code, consult a deity, or some other kind of aid. Kresk was examining possible escape routes and wondered if Raven and Starfire were fast enough to catch him falling, should he attempt to jump in the chasm surrounding Malsheem. Robin walked to the door and gave what he could see a quick inspection. Testing the material, the pugilist tapped the portal. Less than a second later, a crack split through the air, prompting all present to jump back. The figures on the door moved, the erinyes and her angelic lover both gripping onto the crack in the portal, and pulling away. A smaller door, roughly ten feet tall, opened within the massive originator.

Beyond, nothing could be seen. Blackness just seemed to stretch on, spanning the eye of a god. There was actually a moment of relief. Here, there was no telling what could have been there. An absence at this point was far preferable to any presence. The anxiety built in the moments of the door opening washed away for a moment. It quickly returned when a crash of lighting lit up the entering hallway, revealing it to be the length of a football field, and the walls were covered with burning holy symbols for dim torches. There was a coughing, and a scraping of feet before Kresk grunted, "Wheelp... I just remembered I have to... attend to something at the forum. I guess this is where I head off."

"What are you talking about? We can't leave!" Robin protested. Kresk only shortly said, "I can. You could always come with." For a fleeting second, Beast Boy let instinct take over and squeaked, "Really? I mean, you honestly think we could turn around and walk away right now?" The other Titans, even Raven, were now lending an ear. It was one thing to -say- they were going to meet Satan. Actually standing there, though, in front of the hyper fortress of doom that looked like it had Sauron as a bus-boy... it did cause a certain degree of doubt. Kresk continued, "Well, not all at once. If we ran all at once then the guards might shoot at us for sport, but there's only... sixty...give or take eighty. If we started running now, we could probably reach Satanis Mons in a couple of...years. From there, we just spend the rest of eternity climbing our way up the Pit and back into the infernal torment that is Avernus. It could work. It's easier than it sounds, I swear."

The Titans only disbelievingly stared at Kresk for a few moments. Raven finally spoke up, "Kresk... you promised." The Fire Demon sighed as he bemoaned, "You're right. It's just that HOLY CRAP! WHAT ARE THE ARCHERS DOING?!" The Titans quickly looked at the walls, examining all the artillery slots they could. There was suddenly the sound of clacking and panting behind them. Turning around, the heroes saw Kresk running off into the distance, towards a mountain they could only assume was Satanis Mons. Raven, disappointed, phased out for the briefest of moments. But a few dozen feet away, Kresk was jogging on his cloven feet, blood pouring from his eyes as he cried, "No way out! **NO WAY OUT!**" The demon wasn't really certain of where he was going, or how he was going to get there. All he knew is that it was a bad sign when Raven phased in front of him, her cloak billowing as she floated in the air and pierced him with a stern look. Manifesting a shadow claw, Kresk felt his apprentice yank his feet from under him by his tail. With a grunt, the Fire Demon fell to the ground, and was dragged along by his own tail as Raven floated past him. Kresk made a vain effort to claw into the ground, and mewled and whined as they moved forward. Raven, quite bereft of compassion, only stated, "You said you wouldn't run, Kresk."

"I say lots of things! I lie as easily as I breathe! You can't trust anything I say! Ever! Except that! And that! And that! And that! And -"

"Quiet." Was all Raven said until she got to the bridge. Kresk threatened, "I must warn you, I am about to unleash a tantrum the likes of which you have never seen! I've been saving it since I was six! I'll use it! I swear by the Black Goat in the Woods I will!"

"Stop. You're only embarrassing yourself. I had really hoped that you would be able to have just enough dignity to keep a promise, but I guess that was-"

"DAMNED! WE ARE ALL DAMNED! TRULY, WE ARE IN THE HOUSE OF THE DAMNED! AND WE ARE NOT BUT VOID! AND FLESH! **AND DDDDDDDUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTT!** FOR WE ARE ALL DA-" Kresk was cut off from his tangent by a covering of shadow over his mouth that muffled his screams. Raven only gritted her teeth and felt the pounding in her head as she dragged the demon past the Titans and into the ante-chamber. All along the black walls of that dark chamber, symbols of gods, religions, prophets, and holiness burned, the oranges and yellows not casting a reflection on the unhallowed obsidian floor. Flaming and blasphemous verses drifted in between the inflamed icons:

_Give us this day our daily blood..._

_And yay, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I fear no evil, for thou art awaiting me..._

_Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Baator..._

_He prepareth a feast for me, made from the charred flesh of my enemies..._

At the end of the blasphemous hallway, a monolithic display laired, watching the entrance with hideous patience. At the forefront, iron devils leered and rolled their tongues, each pouring a vase of blood into a massive basin. The basin itself read _"And yay, I shall lead you to a land overflowing with blood and bile, and you shall never want in justice." _Behind that, a tall object shaped like a lingam or an obelisk rose into the air. A burning pentagram within a circle was emblazoned at the top of the spire. Nine nines were placed at strategic locations over the glyph. Outside the circle, five nines rested on each tip of the pentagram. With in the inner circle, three more nines made a triangle around the core. And in the very center, the last nine burned by itself. Beyond even the grim obelisk, a final statue was in the very wall of Malsheem. Its knees bent in torment, a man with a lion's head held a cube, embedded in which was the face of a clock. The rim of the clock had its own saying: _"Time stops for no man but the master of this place."_ Raven flicked her umbral claw, sliding Kresk across the floor in front of the bloody fountain. The other Titans stood in the back, inwardly snickering at the demon's humiliation. Kresk got to his feet, just barely, and begged to the burning pentagram, "I... I am scheduled for dinner with the Dark Lord of this Place, Unhallowed be his name, hail Satan. I am to be there as quickly as possible, with my...(_a pause of ultimate terror, sickness, and disdain_) companions." The glyph showed no recognition, it didn't glow or wail or exhibit even the slightest response. Yet the Titans and Kresk both knew that the obelisk had heard the demon, and understood.

There was no flash, no whir, not even a magical aura for Raven or Kresk to detect. With half the time it would take to blink, the group found itself...elsewhere. To the side, the massive exterior walls of Malsheem loomed ever taller. Leading forward, a dark and twisting path ascended with octagonal cobblestones. To the other side, a short wall, roughly three feet tall, guarded the path from flowing off of Malsheem and into an eternal fall. Looking over, Robin could see the bottom of the fortress. The sight was nauseating. Mile down, he could see the gate that he had entered through. The true dimensions of the chasm around Malsheem became more apparent, if not the true size of the whole layer of Nessus. There were hundreds, possibly thousands, of cuts and canyons across the land. Satanis Mons leered at the pugilist, looking farther away then ever, yet no less menacing.

Without words, without will, without much indication that they had in fact begun moving, the Titans and Kresk began to march along the path. For reasons unknown to even herself, Starfire felt the compulsion to just...fly ahead. To just reach the end of the road before all others and see if there really was an end. She was amazed that Raven was able to keep her feet on the ground. Indeed, the young mage and her tutor were trailing at the back of the group. The boys were all moving along at a brisk pace. The road seemed so smooth; the Tameranian hardly even noticed the turns and crooked twists along the side of Malsheem. And from the little distance she had travelled, the alien could see the stairs that led to the door of Asmodeus' throne room. The group began to move slower now. Kresk and Raven now stood at the center of the crowd. But Kori continued on, faster than the others. It felt good to be in front, she told herself, to guard her friends from whatever danger might lurk just ahead. Still, she couldn't help but notice that even the two demons were gaining on her. Starfire could now see the massive patio where the stairs ended. She saw it, but did not truly acknowledge it. For the slightest second, the girl looked back past her team-mates to the beginning of the path. This time, she knew that such a place existed, but she did not see it or have any desire to do so. And then she turned around. There, closer than ever, were the steps that led to those hideous gates of the royal chamber. There, at the end of what was few too many steps, was the entrance to the heart of Hell itself. And now the Tameranian was aware that she and the boys had slowed to a crawl, and that only Raven and even Kresk in his fear were still at the pace they began, now leading the pack. The remaining Titans forced themselves forward, willing every step to draw closer, driving themselves to move towards that malformed portal. Kresk and Raven waited at the top of the landing within a gold circle that was in front of the doors. Looking closer, the extra-terrestrial monarch saw that the circle was in fact another inscription:

_Malum est via nomen , suus terminus sum Ego._

The doors were surprisingly simple and unimbellished for Malsheem. Each one was a huge block of black granite with no visible hinges. The only decorations on the doors were two Krampus-faced door-knockers, the tongues serving as the knockers themselves. The stairs and patio were the same; simple black granite, no decorations or emblems. Indeed, the stairs weren't even smooth; there were cracks and chips on them. To either side of the door were the only decorations to be seen besides the door knockers and the engraving. Cut off from the main portal were two pictures, each identical. A golden rim was rectangularly cut into the black stone. Within each, a massive being of swirling gold fire had been emblazoned, tall and mighty. Their legs were like hurricanes, and their arms like tree trunks. Each one held a sword, also of radiant phlogiston, defiant at each other across the door. There were barely any faces. On the top of the humanoid torsos, there was a wide and grinning slit filled with teeth that might have been a mouth. Pointed ears came out from the sides of the head, and the flames seemed to curl as if they were a crest or hair. Staring at each other, or possibly in defiance of Heaven, two eyes of pure ebony and ivory stared with an angry brow. All of them stood in rapt terror at the gates. Why here, though? Why these gates? Why these over the gates to Malsheem, Baator, or even Sigil? What separated this hideous portcullis from all the others? The answer was in the simple knowledge, the knowledge that this was but the last membrane before reaching the black soul of Hell itself, the beating heart of all evil. The Titans knew they could have turned back right then, but why? What was the point in running? What was the point in saving themselves? They had walked all of the aberrant path to arrive here, and so there was no point in walking it again. It was too long, too far. And now, here, here at last, they could know all the answers to their delightful fear, which each one had been nursing since they set foot on unhallowed ground. Here, then, was the gestalt sum of all fears.

"Well...open it." Cyborg asked. A pun could be made about steeled hearts here, but it would be in poor taste. Kresk glowered in protest, "Why do I have to do it?! Why can't it be you?!"

"You're the one he wants to see..."

"That means nothing! There are lots of people I'm sure he wants to see! I bet he wants to see each and every one of you now, long before me! You should knock on the door! You're the one with a metal fist, you could take it down in a heartbeat! Besides, we don't know if the door is trapped or not. Perhaps this is all part of the great game! The door could be trapped! The knockers might bite me or poison me or blast me or trap me or bind me! And what about those paintings? What if they're alive! What if I knock the door and they turn into Pit Fiends or I don't say a password and they incinerate more or something like that? They have swords for a reason, you know! They'll probably come alive and we'll have to fight them to the death and then more will come and it's off to the Blood War we go! And besides all this, you forget one very simple fact, sir. That I am a coward, and as a coward, I shall do everything in my power to prevent myself from being harmed! Indeed, I am but one in a brotherhood of cowards, a fraternity of fear, so to speak, and it is against my code of ethics to open this door, or even attempt to. Should I try, I will most certainly-"

"Kresk, open the damned door." Raven unindulgentley hissed. "Yes mistress..." Was all the poltroon demon could whimper as he crawled to the portal. Kresk began to sweat profusely in the three feet he walked from the engraved circle to the door. Tears of blood welled in his eyes as he drew himself to the portcullis. The Titans watched with an abstract fascination as the hunched over tanar'ri lifted a claw to one of the Krampus knockers. Grasping the metal fiend's lolling tongue, Kresk knocked it against the devil's beard three times. The moment, the precise moment that no one answered the call, Kresk swirled around with a hesitant if not elated grin and squeaked, "Well, nobody's home! Might as well start heading -"

With a rumble, the door opened. Kresk knew the door was going to open; he had known it from the moment he saw it. After all, the door was created with the sole purpose of opening. There was no chance that it would -not- open, much less the slightest chance in Hell. It was bound to not remain closed in the presence of Kresk by some sick, universal contract. But there, there was the hope, the slight, glimmering, un-killable hope that it would not open. And so, in that brief moment after the Krampus' tongue resumed its rest, Kresk took that hope and ran with it. Unfortunately, now the demon knew that he was going to die tired, so to speak. For indeed -

The door had opened with a rumble.

There was a long stretch of darkness again. Unlike the last abyss at the entrance of Malsheem, this was far more threatening. It demanded that the Titans enter, without question or patience. And so, fully knowing the pressure of each heavy step they took, the Titans complied. Somehow, by unfathomable means, Kresk was at the front of the group. The air changed as they entered. From the mighty and bitter winds of Nessus, it became crisp, neither warm nor cold, but something in between, the type of air that gives birth to cyclones. Light poured in from behind them. Until then, the black clouds covering Nessus had seemed so dim, but even in this umbra they appeared luminous. None of the group was aware of the doors closing. All they were fully aware of was that what light had been there was now absent, and a grinding sound that ended with a loud rumble of stone-on-stone. Not all light was gone. On walls that seemed too far away, eight huge stained-glass windows projected a diminished if not colorful glow. Each window bore an image of a devil, too proud and horrible to ever be fully depicted with even the slightest bit of accuracy by the panes. Embroidered under each picture was their name: Baal, Dispater, Mammon, Belial, Leviathan, Lillith, Beelzebub, and Mephistopholes. Eight of the Lords of the Nine. And where was the ninth? There was no image of him, only his symbol. At the other end of the hall, high up the wall, a circular window was emblazoned with a black, inverted pentagram, nine nines dotting it at crucial locations.

"It is so dark..." was all Starfire could mutter. Robin asked, "Do we do something?" Holding his breath in his throat, Kresk only fearfully hissed, "No. Do nothing. Don't move. Make no sound at all. Don't look at anything. Don't even breathe. Just...stay...perfectly...still." The Titans' busy eyes searched the umbra, and before long, they resigned themselves to the silence. Out of the shadows, a voice instantly rang out, "STEP FORWARD." There was a whimpering from Kresk, and the Titans moved closer to one another. The voice continued to ring, "AND WHAT IS THIS PATHETIC LOT? WHAT VERMIN COME CRAWLING BEFORE MY GATES AND THRONE AT LAST? FOOLS! STOP COWERING AND STEP FORWARD! YOU, TIN-MAN, WITH YOUR FALSE LIFE. AND YOU, SCARECROW, WITH YOUR BRAIN OF STRAW. ALL OF YOU, MOVE TOWARDS ME AT ONCE!" Kresk's whimperings were now full blown tears and a kind of high-pitched, squeaking sound. The voice seemed to hear the Fire Demon as it ordered him, "AND YOU, LION, STEP FORWARD." Kresk crawled ever so gently a few inches before he began a run. Before Raven could stop him, Kresk had moved across the room and jumped through a stain glass window into whatever abyss lay below, the sound of the glass shards echoing throughout the hall, the spare light doing nothing to dissipate the shadows.

It was in another second that timed seemed to flow backward around the window; Kresk crashed up, his impact replacing the glass as he ran and slowed to a backwards crawl in front of the Titans. Annoyed, the voice bellowed, "AS I SAID, -STEP FORWARD-." This final order was punctuated with two gouts of flames bursting from the floor at the sided of the room. Almost like a lizard, Kresk scrambled forward, the Titans in tow. Before the could move further, a circle of whit light emerged beneath them. The familiar pentagram appeared beneath the Titan's feet, and the party was aware of a tingling sensation across their skin. Quieter now, the voice said, "And now, let there be light." And there was.

And the Titans really wished there wasn't.

* * *

Raven had looked upon the Menagerie of Nightmares, that grand court of the Abyss. She had seen the bestial shapes demons took with power; Baphomet and his bull-like head, Demogorgon with his scales and savagery, Orcus as his totem animal, the goat. But the Court of Perdition was different, so much more evolved. Almost every devil looked like humanoid to a degree. True, some bore scales or fur or other animalistic features, to say nothing of the horns and hooves common in the Lower Planes, but they seemed to be so cultured beyond these details. Where even the most noble of demons like Graz'zt or Malcanthet shed debauchery and savagery in their reflection, devils cast an aura of decadence and fascism. Each one was terrifying and haughty, utterly assured of their position in the Court of Peridtion, and ambitious beyond imagination.

Oh, and such a court it was! For look; about, scattered like pieces on a chess board, the dukes and barons and consorts stood about in horrible resplendence! In one corner, eight gigantic Pit Fiends covered in magic armor and eldritch weapons: the Dark Ministry, the commanders of Hell's Pit Fiends and armies, each one almost an arch-devil in and of itself. But lo, what is this? In black armor and baring a monstrous lance and unholy sword, Abigor, lord of war, prepares himself. Zariel, with the tail and horns of a dragon, begrudgingly stands nearby, exposing her alabaster body to the Court. And behold, Balan, master of the Infernal hunt roosts near Nergal, the venomous prince of infection. And there! An even more terrible sight! Standing taller than a giant or even a Titan, Alastor the Grim, guardian of Hell's throne and the lord high executioner, a Pit Fiend composed of nothing but raw energy and Hellfire. Behind him, little more than a standing robe of arcane power, Armaros the Arch-Mage stood silent. A black gale howls, and standing with in it is the terrible Merorem Darkwind, duke of Baator's storms! From the Fourth court, Gazra, consort to Lady Fierana, ruffles his wings in impatience. Shapely Lady Lys, her hands made of pure shadow, amuses herself as erinyes-in-waiting attend to her every need. Semyaza, that vile fallen angel of lust, lingers not far behind, watching with hungry eyes. Beleth, Prince of Imps snarls at Lord Dagon, guardian of Hell's neck of the River Styx. And a gaggle of she-devils, potent and sly, whisper and conspire among themselves: Baalphegor, Astarte, Baftis, Lillis, and worse.

But they were nowhere near as grand as their dark masters, those devilish puppet masters that have engraved their names on every place of evil in the multiverse. "What foolishness is this? Does Asmodeus demean us by allowing mortals and spies into our midst?" cringed Mephistopholes: his curling horns, red skin, and gigantic black wings adorned in rubies and sapphires, his handsome features and worn muscles exposed by a dark robe. An odious chuckle preceeded the voice of Mammon, that golden and bloated monstrosity with gem-encrusted scales, "Hrm... heh... perhaps the Lord sends these morsels to us to sate our appetites."

"Indeed; I'm sure my own 'appetites' could surely be sated by at least one of these nubile specimens." rolled the silky smooth voice of Belial. Starfire felt his eyes roving over her body, and she could not look away from his. For he was beautiful, surely the most beautiful creature in all of Hell, so beautiful that it must have hurt him, for it surely harmed her. He drifted past, with his white-hot skin only a little dimmer than his fiery wings and halo. Starfire felt herself quiver at his passing, and Raven felt her own shudder at the approach of the next Archdevil. For coldness gripped the cambion's heart as Lilith, her wings those of a vulture, her hair serpents, and lightning flowing off of her, screeched, "Take the red bitch, Father of Whores! But leave the dark one to me; she is a witch, and mine by right, even if her father claims otherwise. I'm sure that I can always tear the Black Man out of her heart, or perhaps just her heart entirely..."

"A paltry prize, Hag Countess. One of the Khan of Shade's muts, a few souls, and its familiar are hardly worth the trouble." snarled Beelzebub, that resplendent horned Lord of the Flies. "Pathetic creatures indeed. The shades aren't even fully formed. Fresh from your Lake, Second-Fallen?" The hard-faced ruler of Dis, Dispater, jeered at Belial. Raven was somewhat curious at this comment. Making sure not to move her eyes off of Lillith and her rabid expression, the young witch looked at her companions. Starfire was still in shock, hypnotized by the glory of Belial. Kresk had assumed an even more pathetic position, as he had now literally fallen to his knees in fearful first she thought that Dispater was only insulting Kresk by calling him her familiar, but now she wasn't so sure. His chaositech legs had withdrawn into their shortest mode, and on his knees the demon was only around four feet tall. His spiny horns had gone so far back on his head that the demon's scalp was now slick as an otter. His nostrils flared, his mouth sealed itself shut, and his arms hung limply at his sides, hands curling in on themselves. The Fire Demon's eyes were practically bulging out of his skull, and a swift blow to the head might have shot them out. An occasional thin tear of blood streamed down the demon's cheek, and his skin had taken a snowy tone. And all Kresk could do was stare, stare in demure trepidation at the Serpent's Throne.

But the boys... were gone. In their place were three fresh souls, vestiges that looked like they had just been dredged up from the Larva Pits of Avernus. They were featureless and blank, their bodies made of a shining white nimbus. Their defining borders were their auras; blue, green, and red for Cyborg, Beast Boy, and Robin respectively. The same colors condensed in patches on the head for what could best be called eyes. Raven tried to see past the illusion, but for the life of her couldn't. The disguises had been made so integrally that even the Archdevils couldn't see past them. There was a memory in Raven's head, a memory that she knew hadn't been there before, as if it had always been there, hidden away. Martinet's voice echoed out the words engraved into her mind, "When you arrive, those of you without proper attire will be given such. The Lord requests that at least half of you attempt to stay in spirit with the dinner. However, you, the Tameranian, and the demon will remain as you are. You are all of either royal or fiendish blood, and may stay as you wish." To a degree, this made sense to Raven. To a larger degree, it scared her that master of this dark place was capable of such power so easily. Raven's thoughts were interrupted by a booming and vicious growl.

Baal, a gigantic and mutilated Pit Fiend with a wing-span of fifty feet and missing an eye, snarled, "Enough of this foolishness! The chance that these savages are spies is too great to let them live! If the Lord wants them back, he can tear them out of the Larva Pits at his own will! Until then, I don't compromise with demons!" Baal conjured a massive sword of fire in his hands, a blade easily the size of a trailer. Terror jolted through each of the Titans. Kresk, however, remained in placid madness.

Until he heard his voice call out.

"And yet, you shall still not touch them, Baal. Or any of the Court. For these are my honored guests, and it would be a stain upon me for them to come to harm, but thrice times thrice a stain upon the offender. Have I made myself clear?" The voice was... power. Fear. Wonder. Terror. Delight. Fantasy. Horror. Madness. Reason. Belief. Logic. Royalty. Imperiaty. It reverberated through the halls, indeed, through all Hell, for it seemed to be unimpeded by distance or matter. Listening to it, waves of inspiration flowed through the audience, balanced by a blackening and suicidal despair. This was a voice that had sounded at the dawn of time, a voice that spoke and made reality, a voice that sang a note and forced the suns to spin on their axes. It consumed the body and the mind, not rolling or caressing, but consuming like the winds of a hurricane, blotting out the small motes of an individual mind. Hearing the voice, Raven had the urge to follow Kresk and cry on her knees. For what, though? Forgiveness? Retribution? Or sheer surrender to his glory?

It hurt her, hurt Raven to raise her head and eyes to the voice. She just wanted stay curled on the floor, holding herself, imagining it was her mother or her lover or by all the dark gods even Graz'zt keeping her safe. But she would not break that easily, for he would not allow it. It was as if in the boom of his voice, he left enough room for the witch to move her will towards his. Her eyes glassed over, and she understood Kresk's tears at that moment. The Serpent's Throne did not seem so far away now, and so much more terrible. The throne itself was incredible, able to move throughout Malsheem at it's master's volition. A snake, massive and hideous, coiled itself upwards, wrapping around it's own form nine times. There were no steps or ramps, but the serpentine folds were steep and stable enough for stairs. The throne was made out of a black rock, even smoother and darker than obsidian, run through with veins of blood-red ruby. The snake's double head surmounted on the actual seat; two heads held their mouths fiercely around the rings to sets of chains. Enormous beasts, each the size of an elephant, waited and growled and roared at the end of their fetters. On one side was Infernacan, the Father of All Hellhounds; on the other side sat the Hellcat Hulgatt, the Unseen Death. The throne itself was cornered and plain, but majestic in its awe-inspiring construction. The seat was comfortably large enough for its master, while its back rose twenty feet into the air. At the precipice of the cathedra, Asmodeus' symbol was once again engraved into the stone. Circling it, clinging to the outsides and top, skeleton angels with six wings smiled and stared in submission to preserved bones of a mighty dragon, the beast itself lunging out and easily the size of a whale, it's legs and tail hidden behind the throne. The details were exquisite; every bone had been individually carved, every scale chipped by itself, every imperfection destroyed and wiped away. From these thousands of definite components, each had been lovingly placed on and molded together, the slightest flaw prompting destruction, architect included. The rock itself was older than the castle, older than most planets and gods, even older than most of the planes in existence. From the dark canyons and mountains of Nessus, armies, literal armies, of servants had dragged massive building blocks the size of castles to be chipped down into just the right piece. No throne could compare, no seat or spot of visage could stand up to the Serpent's Throne, for this was the seat of evil, this was where unholiness incarnate resided and manifested in physical form. This was the throne of a Heaven blackened by sin.

He was moving down those coils, almost slithering himself. There was no movement beneath the robes, no sound of hooves; it was as if he was gliding, as if even his own castle was unworthy of supporting him. The robes smoothly fell to the floor, dragging behind him. They were a deep red with black vestments underneath, softer and slicker than salamander silk. Each thread had been woven carefully, spun and twisted until it was just perfect. The fabric itself was a material unlike any other in the whole of the multiverse, best comparable to the last light of a dying sun's supernova in cloth form, the black a tear in the whole of reality. Gold trimmed the sleeves and rim, actual gold mined from the earth, powdered into dust, and microscopically placed into the sheer. No amount of magic could pierce these unholy vestments, only the fire of a sun's heart could even singe them. Legend said that once, Tiamat tried to bite the robes, and cracked her own jaws. In cost alone, the robes were worth a continent, and every man, woman, and child on it.

In his royal hands was the last of Hell's greatest infernal regalia: the Ruby Rod. No being could recall a time when the Ruby Rod and it's master had been separated. It was the grand scepter of Hell, and no king could stand without it. Pure obsidian made up the shaft, with veins of marble creeping up the baton like vines, almost seeming to form letters and the names of gods from some forgotten tongue. At the tip, a golden circle was mounted, containing a pentagram, measurements and angles precise to the atom. And at the center of this metal seal, sat the most exquisite gem in creation, a faceted ruby. This jewel was so perfect, such a paragon of craftsmanship, that if it were to ever enter any world's economy, the entire planet's market would crash in an attempt to balance it. The faceted stone glowed dimly, and yet did not cast light, but almost an aura of night, dimming all those it reflected upon, save for its master. This paraphernalia was the tongue that spoke for Hell; no act was official, no evil or sin known, no devil alive, unless it passed through the red gaze of the Ruby Rod.

And for the master himself? How does one describe evil? How does one put words into terror? How does one take the great cosmic absence that is the forces of darkness, the greedy beast that devours all after corrupting its prey and put it into words? How does one find anything less than the first words of creation and attempt to wrap them around even the most subtle and minor of his features? His skin was a light red, a faint tone, all at once inviting and burning, so that a touch from him would cleanse one of all iniquities before him. His hands were all at once delicate and strong, capable of tearing titans apart and weaving silk with but a few deft motions. He did not have claws like most fiends, or talons or scythes or scales; rather, his skin was smooth, and his nails, while long, practical and non-lethal. His hair, which began in a widow's peak, was orange and styled to a set of horn curling towards his face, set after his horns. Almost comically, he bore a goatee, trim and slick as his scalp. A set of small horns rested above his eyes, not dangerous or overbearing, but simple and proud. His face? You have always known what his face looks like. You have known since you started being afraid of the dark. From the moment you feared sin, feared your failings and damnation, you knew his face. You wouldn't believe me if I told you what his face looked like, for you have seen it so often that you have forgotten it as anything extraordinary by now. And yet it was, for it was the face of the dark side of God. His eyes were a blazing and crimson red, smooth suns that dance upon the edge of a dying dimension. All this and more he was. He was darkness incarnate, the evil from the beginning of time. Before all things had been born, he had been waiting in the darkness, growing and churning until at last, with the Creation, he was born. And all the Lower Planes feared and fell before him. He was the Adversary, the Serpent, the Great Satan. He was Asmodeus Supreme.

And now, the Court of Perdition parted like the Red Sea for him, and fell to their knees, only the other Lords of the Nine doing so with the slightest begrudgery. Kresk grew silent, Raven froze and curled up into her cloak like a cocoon, the boys took a few arthritic steps back, and Starfire wept and grew pale. He was before them now, thirteen feet tall, a living column of red, black, and gold attire. His hands rested behind his back, and he smiled at the group. It was a gentle smile, a loving smile, a smile of absolute forgiveness, yet somehow tinged with weariness. In a smooth voice, Asmodeus gently cooed, "I do apologize for my courtiers behaviors. They do grow suspicious in the presence of strangers, even themselves, like dogs to a strange scent on the wind. But you must understand; no harm shall come upon you in my home, as long as I wish it. I do not believe introductions are necessary, but it would be poor to neglect them. I am Asmodeus, and this is my house. I greet thine presence this evening."

Kresk finally snapped. Without blinking or otherwise moving his face, the demon let out a long, anguished howl, as if something had wounded him. Asmodeus only looked at the Fire Demon for a moment before waving his hands with a pleasant, "That's enough of that." An orb of silence surrounded Kresk, and he continued to scream before he realized the arcane shield around him. At that point, he ceased. Lifting the shield, the Serpent grinned, "Much better." In bloody sobs, Kresk unleashed a torrent of apologies, much to the amusement of the Great Satan; "Forgive me merciful one! Great Lord of All Creation! King of Kings! Prince of Power! Lord of Darkness! Great Satan! Crooked Serpent! Mighty Adversary! King of Devils! Emperor of Hell! Master of Malsheem! Light and Darkness of a thousand -" Kresk found himself silenced again. After this, the demon finally collapsed, twitched on the ground for a moment, and then lay still.

Not without relief, the Serpent assured, "He will recover. But you must all be so exhausted. It has been a long and difficult journey; through the Infinite Stairs, past the City of Doors, wandering the fields of Avernus. Dante and Orpheus would be proud. I know you have seen many things that would make even god stronger, so I ask you to endure one more. Sit, and have dinner with us. Once a year we meet, and you are the guests of honor this passing. So please, by my side, have a seat."

There was a table. Not in an instant, not at the snap of his fingers or a magic word or any other provocation, there just was a table that suddenly appeared. It was plain and smooth, carved from obsidian. The only etchings were zig-zagging marks on the far edges encased in bars. Pointed chairs sat around it, the mesa stretching from one end of the hall to the next. The Court of Perdition was not aware of selecting their respective seats or sitting down, but the moment the table appeared, they were already accounted for. On Asmodeus' left side sat some of the more important Lords of the Nine; Mephistopholes, Beelzebub, Dispater, etc. The Devil himself sat at the end of the table, abandoning his throne over a chair only slightly taller and more ornate than the rest. On the Crooked Serpent's right side, Kresk was now catatonic, blankly staring at the ceiling and shivering. Raven and Starfire came next, while the boys were to endure sharing space with monstrous Baal, who hardly took notice of them.

The table, some annoyed, some perplexed, others despondent or amused, looked at the Dark King. With out any acknowledgment, Asmodeus stood up and said, "And at last, we are all here. It is now time for this meeting to take place, and we are already behind schedule. Let us be done quickly."

"Are you sure it is wise to speak in front of mortals, milord?" Asked Dispater. "Or demons..." Baal growled. The Serpent only responded, "It is wise as I say it is. And of no little consequence is the consideration that I do not believe the demon can hear us." Baal looked at Kresk, frozen, face twisted in horror, not even tears moving down his cheek. Unsure, the devil only ruffled, "I've seen worse lies before..."

"Be careful of your tongue, dog, lest your master cut it out." Belial snickered.

"Be careful of your station, failed and fallen, lest I cut off something more vital to you." Hissed Lillith.

"_Silence_, children. Perhaps you should learn something from the demon. He appears to know when his voice is wanted." Satan looked at Kresk, which the demon didn't even perceive, he only remained rigid. With a crooked smile, Asmodeus praised, "So humble; not even accepting graces given to him. Indeed, you all have much to learn from him."

What happened next is best comparable to the phenomenon of missing time for the Titans. Asmodeus began to speak, and the arch-devils spoke back in their language. And through all this, the Titans were numb. There was no emotion, no feeling, only a purgatorial state that endured for an unspecified amount of time. Drifting, their minds dull, the Titans were only vaguely aware of the surreal summit. Every now and then, one tried listening to the conversation, but it was hard. It was not a matter of language, but energy. The words seemed to flow through mortal skulls with no grasp, like trying to write notes while falling asleep. Each word was hurdled only to be forgotten a moment later. In the end, the only thought, the only feeling was whatever came out of Asmodeus' mouth. And the Great Satan was pleased by this to no end. This went on until a sound was heard. A sound that had not been heard in Malsheem for many a year. A sound foreign but somehow delightful to the ears of the tyrant devils. It was so alien to that great hall that it was like a howl, a roar, dare it be said, a _rumble_.

The workings of the Tameranian digestive tract are mystery, save to the Tameranians themselves. With each individual having anywhere between three to twelve stomachs, ranging in size from a pea to a lung, it was no wonder that Starfire could down as much as Cyborg and somehow retain her figure. Of course multiple stomachs were needed for the species; flight, plasma manipulation, enhanced strength, fortitude, speed, senses, healing, and the health to somehow prevent biological backlash from these abilities took incredible amounts of energy. And so it was, that having gone for hours without food, one of Starfire's stomachs rumbled. It did not care about the rest of the body's current predicament, or what it would mean for it. Come Hell or high water, quite literally in this case, it was going to have food.

This should have been no problem. Baal's breathing alone droned out most noise. But the fact was, Asmodeus was barely twelve feet away. And, distance aside, Asmodeus could hear all things in Hell. For a moment, he stopped. The Titans were violently jolted out of their reverie at the realization of the silence. Turning his head, ever so slightly, Asmodeus looked down at Starfire. In turn, so did all of Hell. The Tameranian sank to nose level under the table as Baal growled at her amidst several others. Even Raven gave her a pitiful look, as if this was the last time she was ever going to see her friend again. Mercifully, Kresk broke the silence. Without moving, the demon let out a long, panicked scream before falling limp. And as will happen with any scapegoat, Kori was forgotten in light of the Fire Demon.

Mephistopheles fumed, "Are these interruptions to continue much longer, Dark Lord? Perhaps it would be best if the children sat outside. Or perhaps a little table they could sit at with plastic cups and mini-plates?"

"You'd be at the head, wouldn't you?" Jest Beelzebub. The Lord of the Eighth spit out, "Holding you by your wings, Lord of Lies. Oh, that's right, you lost them, didn't you? I tend to forget since I was actually born here. Tell me, how goes your latest city? Is it shit or crap yet? I can't tell with you."

"Swine! Those are monuments! Perhaps you'd like to flout... what is it you have back in Cania again? Ice? Ah! Wonderful! Well now the multiverse knows who to call upon when they need a cheap drink chilled."

**"SILENCE. BOTH OF YOU." **Asmodeus did not command or ask. He simply made his wishes so. In the background, the dragon on the Serpent's Throne spit a gout of flame. The Adversary further hissed, "You will keep your childish squabbling out of my household. Neither I nor it are here to placate you two cockerels clawing each others' eyes out. Now be still, at once." The Lords of the Seventh and Eighth begrudgingly backed down. Asmodeus only smiled to the Titans, showing his flawless white teeth. Amicably, the Devil offered, "How rude of me. To put you through such dalliances with this herd of asses. You must be so hungry. I find my voice dry from these proceedings. Perhaps we could all serve to wet our tongues for the evening." And in an instant, there was food.

Amidst candles resting upon serpentine holders and centerpieces of infernal flowers was a banquet of unimagined splendor. Peacock with its feathers still stuck in for decoration, roasted red pepper bisque, Shrimp marinated in coconut with mango chutney, crab cakes with mustard seed beurre blanc sauce, and sliced beef tenderloin tempted feasters with divine aromas. Amidst salmon, a cream soup, and crab bisque, a fig and proscuitto salad with kumquat vinaigrette sauce invited more delicate appetites. And for dessert, chocolate chess tartlet, sheermal, and Napoleon cake anxiously waited. Chardonnay wines, brandy, vodka, scotch, and beers were already being dispensed to devils by servants from Hell's kitchen.

Belial only snorted at the display, watching his daughter Fierna suck the seeds from a pomegranate with hungry eyes. The Lord of the Fourth puffed to Asmodeus, "Is this all really necessary, Serpent? Was it not you who said that these proceedings needed to go on smoothly as possible? If the mortals are starving, let them starve. If they want bread, do not give them cake. Let them fester. I require nothing, and I'm sure my brethren agree that this is a frivolous and extravagant-" Belial was interrupted by a sound best compared to a herd of wild boar. Already taking three full platters for himself, Mammon was stuffing his fat gullet into what looked like a whole roasted cow, head and all. Belial could only let out a fiery sigh as a rib flew past his face, and the Lord of Pleasure and Pain reached for a bowl of pears.

The Titans were nervous about taking anything. It was as if they expected Baal or Mammon to snatch up their arms as morsels the moment they reached for anything. Asmodeus noted the hesitance, and only upheld, "Please, eat. I assure you, none of this is a trick. You will find no traps here. This is not some ruse as Persephone or the Fair Folk. If you eat, you are not bound here, nor I to you. You just need to sup." In a quick moment, before Kresk, Raven, and Starfire, were platters piled with fruit, meats, cakes, and salad. The boys tried to let out a sign of dissatisfaction before the Devil cut them off, saying, "And your 'souls' cannot starve as well." Robin, Cyborg, and Beast Boy were treated to a less splendorous meal. Three bowls of bisque appeared in front of them, creamy and warm. Wearily, Beast Boy dipped his spoon into the bowl, lifted it to his lips, and swallowed.

To say that it was deliscious at this point would be redundant. Everything was perfect as long as it was provided by the master of the house. What was astounding was the fullness; despite being a light soup, the bisque was so rich and creamy that if it was tossed into the vault of stars it would have melted into a galaxy. The same applied to the rest of the food; moist, chewy, savory, soft, buttery, light, exotic, and exquisite all. Still, there was a certain element lacking. No water or milk or even a juice of any nature. And with all the salt in the meat, the Titans were starting to get parched. Their gracious host quickly took note of this; "You look like your mouths are so dry. Here, let me get you something." the Devil placated.

A thing that might have been a human at some point hobbled over. It was hunchbacked with pale, leathery skinned. He barely wore a brown tabbard with Asmodeus' symbol on it. His hands were pudgy and clawed, and his black eyes squinted. In his hands, he held a silver tray adorned with bottles and crystal glasses. On his head, the pathetic fiend wore a lop-sided paper crown that read:

**Daddy's Little Boy**

**James Warren Jones: May 13, 1931 – November 18, 1978**

Asmodeus only smiled as the hunchback stood at waiting, and asked Raven and Starfire, "Would you care for some wine? It is the finest I have to offer." Nervously, Starfire stammered out, "N- No thank you. I do not drink."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"I am... quite sure."

"... How very disappointing."

"Oh! I am sorry! I did not mean to offend! It is just that I am not fond of wine and it tastes-"

"No. No. I can see the problem here. Do you hear that James? Do you know what the problem is?" The soul only quivered as Asmodeus began staring it down. His volume increasing, the Devil pressed, "The young ladies did not any wine, and do you know why? It was -you-, James. It was -you-. They looked at your disgusting face for one instant and knew they didn't want anything that you touched." The soul was crying now, its legs starting to weaken. In the background, devils were looking on, laughing and tittering at the display. The Serpent's Barrage didn't stop, "You're pathetic James. You're such a disappointment to me. You can't even carry the wine without curdling -that- with you're failure. Why do you fail, James? Why are you constantly failing me? Stop crying, James. Stop crying, this instant. You're embarrassing me. You're embarrassing my guests. Do you know how childish you are James? Do you know how stupid you look down there? You've embarrassed me, James. You have been a -bad boy-."

The soul raised its arms, squealing like a pig, almost howling, "No! No! Father, NO!" The tray clattered to the floor, glasses and bottles breaking, spreading wine all over the ground. Staring, for a moment, at a drop of wine that had touched his robe, Asmodeus only hissed, "Now look at what you have done. Clean it up, James. Clean it all up." Hurrying, hunched over like a rodent, the soul cut its hands trying to pick up the broken glass. It wept profusely, its tears mixing with the blood and wine. His brow furrowed, the Devil castigated, "No. That's not good enough now. You need to be taught a lesson." Staring up in horror, the soul begged with even more ferverence, "No no no no no no no no no no no!"

It's amazing how quickly terrible things can happen. How fast a bullet can turn a brain into mist, how swiftly a dog goes from barking to snarling and biting, how utterly brisk a lightning bolt slicing a tree in half is, and how horrifyingly like a bat out of hell Asmodeus could summon his Ruby Rod to his hand. His eyes flashing light, his arm raised with the deadly scepter, there was a pause as Satan gently asked, "What is it that you always say about children again, Belial?"

With a grin at his daughter, the Worthless One quipped, "Spare the rod and spoil the child." A scarlet trail was left in the wake of the Red Scepter. It hit the soul on its face, burning a pentagram into the pathetic creature's visage. The soul howled and squealed in pain, begging incomprehensibly for relief. Lightning danced across his skin, burning skin, melting flesh, fusing bone and lumps together. The paper crown burst into flame, but the words remained imprinted on the creature's brow. There was a lull as Satan lifted his weapon again, the soul screaming "NO! NO! FATHER I LOVE YOU! NO! NOT-" Lightning danced across its skin again, Asmodeus watching dispassionately. The reflections from the energy danced in his eyes like stars. The soul's flesh was peeling away in places, showing bone, veins, and faulting muscle. It's skin was red now, bruised and burning in some places. The final strike came in silence. By now, the Court of Perdition were enveloped. They laughed and cheered, ringing out in merriment. They drank down glasses and bottles, holding them at the ready. Some sang, some jeered, others simply whooped and hollered. At last, Asmodeus finished. Without so much as a 'Go to your room', the King of Hell requested a towel. A nearby devil was quick, and elated when Satan wiped his symbol of power clean with the rag. The soul wasn't even a shape anymore. Half its face had been collapsed in. An eye had melted into its skull. Its lower jaw hanged limply, teeth spilling out. Its hump had burst open, bleeding profusely. One of its legs had melted into a puddle of bone, skin, fat, and gore. The creature's skin was mostly black charred by now, and great welts grew in patches all over its body. The soul pulled itself along, crying, hurting itself as it tried to move away. At this point, the devils threw their glass. Some hit the soul, others burst into it, and most simply broke on the floor. The soul was a few feet away by now, the crowd still laughing and cheering at it, when one last detail was forced upon the wretch. For, it had forgotten about Hulgatt and Infernacan. The Father of Hellhounds and the Mother of Hellcats tore into the soul, each one grabbing a separate end. They tugged and pulled until at last it came undone. Hulgatt took the legs and half the hump, Infernacan the arms and the other half.

Smiling, Asmodeus put his finger into the pool of blood, tears, and wine beside him. Sucking it off his finger, the Devil savored his drink for a moment, sighed, and cooly said, "Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it... That's why I never buy Bordeau in mass anymore." The crowd lightly laughed before breaking into applause again. Nodding, Asmodeus directed, "And let's have a hand for our lovely volunteer tonight. It's her first time doing this, believe it or not." And the room clapped for Starfire.

The Tameranian sank into her chair. Her skin had paled from gold orange to a sickly yellow. Listlessly, her glazed over as she was absorbed in her own inner turmoils. She wanted to cry, tears welled up in her eyes, but something wouldn't let her. Something wouldn't let her shed a single tear. The darkness all around her, the chairs, the floors, the walls- it all seemed like tar. Tar pulling her in, sucking her down faster and faster. We are Legion, for we are many. We are Legion for, we are many. We are LegIon, for we are MAny. Are LegIon, for we are MAny. I AM LegIon, I are MAny. And the little alien princess, for a moment, questioned not who she was, but -what- she was.

In a moment, the laughter died down. As usual, the entire mess disappeared with but a thought from the Overlord. He at last poured himself a glass of whine, and gently sipped from it, savoring the flavor, before Mephistopholes interrupted, "A fine performance, my lord. But it makes me wonder; what of your true children? How goes Lixer?" A snide look, oddly human for the Devil, crept along Asmodeus' face, as he said, "He goes."

"Ah. And what of Glasya? Erinyes morale is simply dismal without her."

"Alas, there is no word on my daughter. She has disappeared for quite an extended period this time. Her affairs are not my own, however. She will return, eventually. Perhaps you have seen her, young master Kresk?" The Fire Demon, still not entirely conscious, plunked his head on to the table with a loud thud. Silverware rattled, but still Kresk remained limp and despondent. Asmodeus, amused, said, "Hmm... Indeed. And what of you, cambion? What words come from the Bottomless Pit?" In the moment it took Raven to realize the Adversary was addressing here, Baal snarled, "My spies could tell you many things, Great Satan. It is pointless asking these worms what they know. Better to scoop them out and see what's inside."

"Ah, but there's the problem, Lord of War. You always trim out the fat." Asmodeus said. "I just want some simple words, some gossip, some little pieces of news. Nothing about armies or strategies. And I want it from a demon's mouth, not some biased spy. So tell me, little one, wise beyond your years, what news from the Menagerie?" Raven stammered for a moment. She tried not making eye contact, but it was impossible. He truly was like a serpent, hypnotizing her with his gaze. Raven wrapped her cloak around her tighter as she was finally able to stutter out, "I- I would not know. I haven't been to the Abyss for a while now."

"But you have been?"

"Y- Yes. Kresk took me. We didn't actually land. We just flew through it."

"Surely your mentor must know of the goings on and mentioned some to you?"

"Just bits and pieces, y-your Majesty."

"Very well then. How is your father? Is he in good health?"

"Yes, m-my Lord. He is still as h-healthy as ever."

"Good, good. And how is the Ivory City, Azzagrat, his layer?"

"It still stands. It is expanding e-even now."

"And the Twin Beast, Demogorgon?"

"The heads are fighting again, m-my Lord. They want M-Malacanthet to choose who she loves more and s-she refused and both believe the other is lying"

"Its downfall and its strength. Does the Goat still sit on his throne in Thanatos?"

"Y-yes, your M-Majesty. But w-worshipers of the L-Lolth... they keep rising against h-him."

"Typical. And how goes the Old Night?"

"I- I do not know, my Lord. She rarely goes outside her layer these days."

"As is expected."

"... M-my Lord?"

"Yes, young one?"

"W-why is Old Pale Night important? I hear so m-much of her but no one ever sees her and I-I just want to know-"

"A good question, little one. Pale Night is of great importance to demons. She is old, impossibly old. When the first demons, the Qliphoth, still ruled the Abyss, she was old. When the Material Plane was but a thought, with Heaven and Hell, she was old. She was a darkness that clung to the chaos from which the Cosmos was born. It is not entirely impossible that she gave birth to your race, and a thousand others. And when the eladrin left their Star Court and purged the Abyss of her species, she was but one of a few hundred survivors. She has seen many things, and knows more even than Raum or Demogorgon. Among demons, she is the great oracle, the last memory of the void. She knows the name Graz'zt was given at birth, and the true face of the Crawling Chaos Nyarlathotep. She taught Lolth how to spin magic, Orcus how to turn seas into ice, and Baphomet the secrets of the Alchemist's Stone. She will always be important to demons, for if any creature can claim to know them, then it is her."

"... Oh."

Asmodeus dabbed his mouth with his napkin before resting it on the table. He stood up, and the Court of Perdition stood with him. In a calm voice, he stated, "I shall return in a moment. But first, I would bid our guests farewell, lest they fall prey to the hazards of Malsheem. As you were." In a flash, Asmodeus and the Titans were gone, standing outside the door which led to the hall they were just in. He briefly clapped his hands, and with a smile said, "Well! Wasn't that fun! I hope you will all come to join me again for dinner sometime in the next decade. Not in the usual sense of the phrase, but something a little more fitting. You'll forgive the formalities, but I do have an image to maintain. So, for such a dull evening, how about a favor; whenever you need me, just ask, and I'll be there. Now, I really should return, but, first, let me just say that-"

It was like he was still talking, standing there as words came out of his mouth. But in each Titan's mind, he was in front of them individually, saying and whispering his own sentences. The boys had lost their disguises, and part of them missed the immunity to his gaze. He was reflected in Cyborg's eyes as he heard him whisper, "Ah, Victor. Still do you not believe? You used to believe. I remember all those years ago, Stone, when you were just a little boy. I remember your sweet little prayers every night before you went to bed, how you begged and begged God not to let me get you. Than you'd hop in your bed, fast as possible, and hope I wasn't already reaching a claw out to grab you. You got older, Victor, and you stopped praying, stopped believing I was under the bed. But do want to know something, Victor? I _was _there. _I was always there. And I still am_."

Robin heard his whispering in his ears, "Tsk tsk, Richard. You've fallen quite a long way. Really, I should question why I'm letting you go. I suppose it's the sport of the situation, the gamble that you'll escape my grasp. What happened, Richard? What happened to that apple-cheeked youth I watched at the carnival, swinging like a monkey on a tree? What happened that smile I saw on the streets of Gotham, that longing for adventure, that desire for good? How could that place not break you? How was it that one man was? Were you scared, Richard? Scared of your failure without Bruce? You've _already_ failed. Well, there's no need to worry about that anymore. Bruce might not be here to look over your shoulder, but _I_ am. And no matter how much you fail them, you'll never fail me."

Starfire felt him crawling across her skin, the vibrations echoing, "Thank you for helping me tonight. I'm sorry for such an impromptu and abrupt introduction, but that's the thrill of surprise. And I hope you learned a lesson here tonight as well. This entire journey has been one, long, moral sermon. An almost ceaseless torrent of melodramatic and cliched problems that no doubt some pathetic soul find 'philosophical' or 'deep'. The meaning only lies in the meaning perceived. And so, I give my final lesson to you. You do not have to be one of Their kind, Kori. You do not have to be one of the countless faces of Legion. No. You just have to live. As long as you do that, you work for me at my beck and call. Throw yourself into the fire? You have been in the fire all along."

Beast Boy, for lack of a better word, could smell Asmodeus presence around him. It was brimstone and blood and iron and ash. It came in an undecipherable code at first, but he pieced it together in his mind, the Serpent hissing, "Magnificent, isn't it? My finest work yet, at least material. Malsheem; it is one of the few items I own that I crafted rather than willed into existence. But my real work is a bit less... tangible. The tyrant who burns books, the fanatics who murder in cold blood, the little white lies you tell to make the world go round; these are my true masterpieces. And the real secret of their creation is their necessity. Mortals _need_ those evils. You need them to define your existence. You need murders, theft, wars, genocide... betrayals. Especially betrayals; to know who you can trust, to know what hidden enemies look like for the future. To learn basically. Dante said that the lowest layer of Hell was for traitors. Well, of course, he was wrong, he was merely attempting to make a metaphorical scale of sin. But I must admit; personally, I'm rather fond of the taste of betrayers. And... Do you even care anymore? You know where this conversation is going, so let me stop beating around the bush and just say; I have a present for you, Garfield. A present from someone who loves you very, very much. And I want you also to know... she's in good hands."

And over Raven and Kresk's minds, slithering and leaving an oily trail, like a bad taste in their mouths, Asmodeus said, "And now we come to the thick of it. I was a bit worried that you wouldn't answer my call, Kresk. Solidified Hellfire is precious, even to me, my faithful servant. Don't worry, it's already here in my pocket. Your belongings are back at your home, safe as safe can be. I must admit, I'm touched that you kept the medal I gave you. Perhaps your Apprentice can earn one as well. Yes, I'll be seeing both of you again, in the near future. You have a long road ahead of you, with many trials lining it. But you will come through. I know this...because even I must counsel Old Night from time to time. You're going to do great things, my loyal servants. Of that you can be sure."

Speaking for the last time, Asmodeus waved his hand and simply said with smile, "And now, farewell." The Titans were back in the Tower again. No boundaries crossed, no portals or explosions. Leftover breakfast was still on the counter. It was evening outside, night coming fast. The first stars peaked out from the celestial dome. The oppression of Baator had left, making the air smell clean and the moon shine bright. And on the table, the dagger Kresk had thrown down had snapped in half, the hilt on the floor.

* * *

**WHOO! I've... honestly... got nothing. I mean, just, WHOO! Okay, so there's absolutely no excuse for my absence. I suspect that all five people actually interested in this story are wondering what happened. Well, far be it from me to be unaccountable, so, in the spirit of Summer essays, here's 25 excuses**

**1. I've lost the ability to care.**

**2. I got addicted to Evangelion fan fiction.**

**3. Winter finals.**

**4. Summer finals.**

**5. I was writing my personal manifesto.**

**6. I've come to realize that I hate the majority of the fan-community.**

**7. I've come to realize that I hate myself.**

**8. D&D sessions.**

**9. Call of Cthulhu sessions.**

**10. Had to read the Lady Penitent series.**

**11. Why did nobody tell me that Meatloaf was awesome?! (The singer, not the food.)**

**12. I tried setting various animes to Bob Dylan. Had mixed results.**

**13. D&D sessions that devolved into hanging out with friends, drinking wine coolers, eating buffalo wings, and watching movies and anime.**

**14. I began writing Ninja Gaiden fan fiction.**

**15. Watchmen came out as a movie.**

**16. Still don't have a job.**

**17. Still don't have a girlfriend.**

**18. Still don't have a car.**

**19. Watchmen came out as a movie.**

**20. Numerous vacations.**

**21. I discovered a strange fascination for Disney Halloween AMVs.**

**22. I have no reviews.**

**23. This story is depressing.**

**24. Had to attend a funeral.**

**25. I know I'm going to regret letting you people vote for Jinx in the romance contest...**

**So there. Now that this melodramatic monument to emo bullshit is almost complete, we can all get on with our lives. I just wrote this because I have a bigger mythos in mind, and I wanted to establish some plot points here. I've just gotta' get the epilogue done and then BAM! Curtain call! After this... I don't know. I'm definitely not going on hiatus again. But I owe you guys something. So, I'll cut you a deal. I'm gonna' write some drabbles about Raven and a random romance and then some short stories about Kresk blowing shit up. After that, I think I'll focus on my Ninja Gaiden stuff and then, and I swear to God I'm not making this up, I'll take another crack at the actual Epic of the Arcanists. Once again, I suspect all five of you reading this are going 'Yay!' now. Thank you very much. Now if you'll pardon me, I'll be out of here like a bat out of Hell when the morning comes. **

**A/N: On the drabbles - I'm taking non-canon requests for characters. Read that, NON-CANON. Better extend that to Fanon, too. So, no Robin or Garfield. Why? WHY?! You have over EIGHTY FUCKING PAGES of material, that's why. I'm just trying to dance to my own drum here. You just get to hold the sticks.  
**

* * *


	9. Dessert

_"We are all visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through. Our purpose here is to observe, to learn, to grow, to love... and then we return home."_

- Australian Aborigine Proverb

_"If I thought my answer were to one  
who would ever return to the world,  
this flame should stay without another movement; but since none  
ever returned alive from this depth, if what I hear is true,  
I answer thee without fear of infamy."_

- Dante Aligheri: _Inferno_; Canto XXVIII, Lines 61-66

* * *

The next few days? ... Quiet. Strange. Recuperating, really. It was difficult getting over an excursion into Hell. None of the Titans had been left untouched. Kresk had all but disappeared into his room. Every one felt like they needed their own space for their own reasons. Raven, however, felt the need not to get lost in isolation, but in the mindless throng of society. Surrounded by people, nameless, faceless, utterly alien to her, but still somehow comforting, was unnerving, infuriating, but somehow rejuvenating, somewhat like lying on the grass even though gnats insist on biting the skin. Her roost of choice was the bookstore/cafe, Carpe Libram.

Raven, though, was not her true self. She had manipulated her skin tone into a healthier degree, past the ash gray. Her hair was now black and disheveled, with a slight greasy undertone to hide its natural sheen. She could do nothing about her eyes; they remained lavender. Her loose, cotton shirt was a dull shade of grey that could best be called 'purgatory', with the message 'Normal Service Will Be Resumed Shortly' written across it. Her dress was a long and baggy affair, complementing her Birkenstock. This was a good human form in her opinion; not very noticeable, unkempt enough to be unappealing to some, with a certain wispy aura of un-ease that kept others at edge.

She had no drink for herself, only a copy of the 'Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner' that the store employees would be annoyed to see get put back on the shelf (again). An arcane disturbance rippled across her skin, jagged and wild, preceding an angry voice, "How can you charge that much?!"

"Miss, please keep your voice down-"

"It's theft! It's extortion! It's a crime!"

"I don't make the rules on the coffee, miss, I just work-"

"Well you better change the rules!"

"It's not my decision-"

"Where's your manager?!"

"I -am- the manager."

"... How did you get to be the manager?! You idiot! What do you mean it's not your call?! You're the manager! No one's got a gun to your head! You're too stupid to be the manager of anything! How did you even get a job?!"

"**Because I didn't become a bitchy little thief who screwed up her life! There?! Is that the answer you wanted?! Is that what you wanted to hear?! God! You couldn't even be a criminal the right way! You even screwed THAT up!**"

"..."

"Now get out of the line before I call the cops and tell them you were trying to blow shit up! And I really doubt anyone but you is going to say otherwise..."

Huffing loudly, Jinx stormed off. Towards the girl otherwise called Raven. Annoyance and panic ran across Raven. Personally, she felt that Jinx got what she deserved. And absolutely nothing in the world could move her to put up with spell-thief right now. Jinx kept moving forward. Raven could only think, 'Please don't come over here, please don't come over here, please don't come over here.'

Still, Jinx moved forward.

'Look, there's a lovely spot over there. It's called 'not near me'. It's great. You should try it. It's got all sorts of stuff that I'm sure an annoying... whatever you are would be interested in. Go over there. Now. Right now. This second. 'Not near me' will disappear if you don't go over there in a few seconds.'

The other witch was practically at the table now.

'I am thinking at you very loudly. How can you not be picking up on my thoughts? Listen to the sound of my thoughts. Do you not hear them? They're telling you to -leave me alone or I will make your head explode.-"

Jinx sat in the adjoining seat with a huff. Her hair was down, not that it made much difference. And all Raven could think was, 'They find me, God... How do they find me? It's you, isn't it? You're doing this... I'm not laughing, by the way.' Jinx snarled (to Raven, unfortunately), "Can you believe this bullshit? I mean, how can they do this?" Raven only let out a quiet, hopefully disinterested sounding "Hrm."

"This is just wrong. They can't just blackmail me like this!"

"Mm-hrm..."

"And I wouldn't have to throw a fit if the crap they made was worth even -half- the price!"

"Mm..."

"They shouldn't just have the right to boss me around because of things I used to do."

"Mm-hrm..."

"I mean, judging me because of what I do is wrong, right?"

"Hrm..."

"... You can drop the act now, Raven. I can see there's no baiting you out here."

'Damn.' was all the cambion could think to herself. Letting out a sigh, Raven asked, "How did you know?" Smiling with that infuriating cheshire cat grin, Jinx said, "I could hear your thoughts from across the room. I didn't even have to listen."

"Oh. I must've forgotten to turn off the telepathy."

"I'll say. Why didn't you help me?"

"Why should I?"

"Because we're both Titans?"

"Yeah, that doesn't really fly for me. Kid Flash may have vouched for you, but I've got a thing about randomly trusting girls with superpowers and amoral ethical compasses. Go ahead and call it prejudice, if you like."

"I should. I'd expect you out of all people to vouch for equal rights."

"See, the problem there is that I didn't -choose- to be half-demon. I just got dealt that."

"Well I didn't choose to be a meta-human either..."

"I think it's the super-criminal thing that puts most people off."

"I'm not even a thief anymore, though..."

"Really?"

"...Well I might swipe some jewelry from time to time. It's not like anybody's using it. But still, that doesn't mean I can't be trusted here."

"Oh, no! You mean -all- shopkeepers and business owners don't trust known thieves? That's just... whoa. My world-view has changed. It just left. There go all my hopes for flamboyantly and directly stealing from a national bank. In broad daylight. Surrounded by superheroes. With often imbecilic team mates. And powers that literally make things go wrong. All those years I spent planning... but now, alas, my dreams. They have gone up in flames."

"... You done?"

"I suppose."

"Yeah, well, there's no need to rub it in. I thought that at least-"

"Look, don't you have something better to do? Like, learn real magic or yell at another public servant or something?"

"Hey! What do you mean 'learn real magic'? I know magic!"

"... Sure whatever makes you feel special. Why don't you go freshen up on it then."

"I know just as much magic as you."

"No. Absolutely not. You can call those parlor tricks you throw around 'magic' all you want, but you can't even -begin- to claim you know more than I. I have personally browsed through the libraries of Azerath, an arch-demon, and the Illumian. I have been tutored by dragons, gods, demons, and nothing but raw fear. You? You throw energy around. Shooting energy around a mage does not make. If I called everyone with lasers a mage, half the people in this city, if not on this planet, would be mages. Victor's sonic cannon? Magic. Starfire's bolts? Magic. Laser eye surgery? By your definition, magic. And before you even start with that 'technology can be called magic to a certain degree' stuff, no, it can't. You might use magic, you might fling it around, you may even dress up like a little witch and act like you know some big secret that common mortals don't, but you aren't a mage. You're just a thief who happens to use magic."

".... Fine! I guess I'll just go then! If nobody wants me around, then I guess I'm out! Thanks a lot, bitch!" Before Jinx could move entirely out of her seat, Raven gripped her arm and pulled her back down. Jinx tried to move away, but found the half-demon to be surprisingly strong. Raven apologetically cooed, "I'm sorry, gods, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that. It's just been a rough time for me. I came here to unwind and I wasn't expecting to have to talk to anybody, much less you."

"What's that supposed to mean? What, talking to me is a chore?"

"Sometimes." Disgusted, Jinx tried harder to escape the cambion's iron grip. She finally gave up and spat, "Yeah, well that's no reason to fly off the handle at me! You could have just left!"

"You would have followed."

"... Only to annoy you."

"You're not making this apology any easier."

"... Fine."

With a sigh of relief, Raven breathed out, "Good." She threw back her head and popped her neck before rubbing her eyes. Jinx couldn't help but sense the stress flowing off the cambion and asked, "So what's got you all wound-up?"

"Nothing... just got back from a trip... a long trip."

"How come I didn't notice? If you and the other Titans had been out of the city, crime would have skyrocketed. Not that I know of such things... anymore."

"It was just a day trip. But trust me, it was longer than it should have been."

"That bad, huh?"

"It was Hell."

"Well, now you see why nothing good can come from dealing with normal people."

"I'm going execute this poorly executed joke by wishing death on whatever malevolent being contrived it, and gently explaining it to you. I was in Hell. As in the dimension, Hell. The Hellish kind of Hell. Hell, as in where the Devil is. Hell, as in where the souls of the damned are tortured. Hell, as in that place that actively works against that other place called Heaven. I was not in a dimension so terrible that it might be referred to as Hell. I was not on another planet or wavelength or in some state of spiritual fugue. I, as in my physical body and ethereal soul, were in Hell, the darkest pit of punishment in the multiverse. As mortals think of and fear Hell, this place grew stronger. It was a bad place. There were bad things there. And something tells me I'm going to spending the remainder of my life having to deal with it on a casual basis."

"...Oh."

"Exactly. We've all been recuperating the last few days. You don't go to Baator and then just get over it. Not without years of plane-walking, Kresk says. But even he got knocked out cold while we were there. "

"Kresk? That big red -thing- that blew up half the city a few months ago? How can something like him be scared of Hell?"

"There's always a bigger fish. We had to deal with some of... the bureaucracy."

"What does that even mean?"

"It would take too long to explain. But it's put us all on edge. Even Cyborg has had trouble."

* * *

38 degrees to the left.

Exactly three inches inward.

Do not compact.

Warning: Wiring being compressed.

Danger: Compression may lead to damage of central circuits.

Alert: Compression alleviated.

Routing to mainframe...

Routing...

Routing...

Adapting to rejuvenation programming...

Adapting...

Connecting to generator...

Changes complete.

Area restarting to accommodate changes. Yes or No?

Without hesitation, Victor agreed to 'Yes'. His internal computer blanked out for a moment. He could feel the remaining human parts of him working by themselves, but it was difficult to move or breathe without pain. Within another moment, the Machine flashed back on. The cradling presence of technology melded with him again, accounting for every action and heartbeat. The re-installed security system was already at work, scanning every file, inspecting every outlet, reviewing every monitor recording. Cyborg smiled, pleased with himself. Shifting his good human eye, as if the contraptions around him might judge him, he inspected his other improvement. The sheet of metal where he recharged every night was now between two extraordinary modems, a mere a two and a half inches away from the wall. Popping open his light, he looked over the wires, tubes, and batteries before walking away. As he left the room, Victor ignored the derisive laughter of the Machine in his head.

* * *

"So it's really gotten them shook up, huh?" Jinx went on. Raven raised an eyebrow, mocking "You wouldn't be?"

"Well, no. But why did they even go?"

"I'm ashamed to admit I baited them into it."

"Really now? But why?"

"I was hoping that Kresk and them might get to know each other a little better. It was a stupid idea, I shouldn't have pushed it on either of them."

"Seriously. I mean, what were you hoping for there? No, seriously, what could possibly come out of that that would ever be remotely described as 'good'? I''m honestly curious here."

"I was just hoping to find common ground. I've been trying since they met each other. This latest debacle... I'm calling it quits. They can all bond on their own time from now on."

"Or they might tear each other to shreds."

"Don't make me feel any worse about this."

"Too late."

Raven groaned again. Jinx, in a rare moment of sympathy, comforted, "Hey... look, I'm sure there's a silver lining here."

Still pessimistic, but a little calm, Raven explained, "Oh, I know. Not all the changes I've noticed have been for the worse."

* * *

Dick Grayson looked at the card Kresk had given him. At the moment, he was Richard Grayson, not Robin or any other vigilante, but simply himself, as he had been born. He had no idea how to use this thing; it was, after all, just a gold-leaf piece of paper with a symbol on it. Flipping it around, he turned the card on its side so that it was little more than a sliver in his vision. Turning it back, he was surprised to find a series of numbers printed on one side. It appeared to be a... telephone number? Richard had been wondering how the card worked and now, here was an answer. Cautiously, he dialed the number on his communicator. There was a faint ringing before a loud, monotonous voice rang out, "**01001000 01100101 01101100 01101100 01101111 00101100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100001 01100011 01101000 01100101 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100001 01111000 01101001 01101111 01101101 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01101101 01110101 01101110 01101001 01100011 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01110011 01100101 01110010 01110110 01101001 01100011 01100101 01110011 00101110 00100000 01010000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01110000 01100001 01110100 01101001 01100101 01101110 01110100 00100000 01110111 01101000 01101001 01101100 01100101 00100000 01110111 01100101 00100000 01100001 01110011 01110011 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01101101 01110101 01101110 01101001 01100011 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00100000 01101110 01100101 01100101 01100100 01110011 00101110**"

Hesitantly, Richard voiced, "He- hello?"

"**01001001 01110100 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110011 00100000 01100010 01100101 01100101 01101110 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110100 01100101 01110010 01101101 01101001 01101110 01100101 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01110000 01110010 01100101 01100110 01100101 01110010 01110010 01100101 01100100 00100000 01101100 01100001 01101110 01100111 01110101 01100001 01100111 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01000011 01101111 01101101 01101101 01101111 01101110 00100000 00101000 01000101 01101110 01100111 01101100 01101001 01110011 01101000 00100000 01011011 01000101 01100001 01110010 01110100 01101000 01011101 00101001 00101110 00100000 01001001 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100011 01101111 01110010 01110010 01100101 01100011 01110100 00101100 00100000 01100001 01100110 01100110 01101001 01110010 01101101 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100001 01100110 01101111 01110010 01100101 01101101 01100101 01101110 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 01100101 01100100 00100000 01101100 01100001 01101110 01100111 01110101 01100001 01100111 01100101 00101110 00100000 01001001 01100110 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100 00101100 00100000 01110000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101 00100000 01110011 01100101 01101100 01100101 01100011 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101110 01101111 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 00100000 01101100 01100001 01101110 01100111 01110101 01100001 01100111 01100101 00101110**"

"... I just wanted to talk to somebody, so if I could just-"

"Confirmed. Welcome to the Axiom Communication Center. You are currently an unregistered guest. Your communication has been notified to the proper authorities."

"What?! No, I didn't mean to-"

"Please state the name of the being whom you are calling."

"...What?"

"Please state the name of the being whom you are calling."

"... Mary Grayson."

"Please hold." A pleasing muzak flowed out of the communicator, and Dick could only watch as what appeared to be a metal orb with a single eye and stick legs danced in joy on the device's screen.

* * *

"So how did the big red thing take it? Kresk, or whatever his name is. Bet he felt right at home!"

"Hardly. He was terrified beyond reason. I've never seen him so scared." Jinx giggled at this, laughing out, "What? A monster like him, an actual demon, afraid of Hell? What's he got to be scared of?"

"Lots of things. There are things all across the planes, horrible things, terrible things, mysteries to everything but themselves. And some of them, well... some of them are so wonderful and wicked that they scar who or whatever meets them. Kresk met one. He hasn't been out of his room for days now."

* * *

The Fire Demon groggily opened an eye and groaned. He had fallen asleep on his study floor, again. Around him were tattered bits of cloak, a leather scourge, and countless empty liquor bottles. His mouth dry, Kresk reached for one of the bottles and tipped it over his mouth, vainly hoping for some drink to come out. When none came, he swore and through the bottle against the wall. The room was barely lit, save for nine torches methodically placed in a circle around a cabinet. Kresk got up and stumbled over to his desk. His knees were weak, and he almost tripped once or twice on his way to his cabinet. His eyes were dull, and everything looked fuzzy through the orange and black orbs. Kresk opened a drawer and pulled out the last drink in the room.

A skull-laden jug of daemon brandy, made with distilled essence of pain. The Fire Demon opened the bottle, and let the green smoke wisp away. He sniffed the drink, and scrunched his face in disgust. Taking a swig, he slammed the bottle against his desk in an instant. His eyes bulged, his nostrils flared, and his face turned a ghastly shade of red. Finally, Kresk let out a long, painful howl, breathing fire with the scream. He dug his claws into his palms until they bled. Coughing, wiping the tears from his eyes. Kresk returned to the center of the torches. A cabinet had been placed there. It was simple; medium, dark wood, sturdy. It's doors were closed, and the Fire Demon had some trouble opening them, but at last they surrendered. Red light poured out, and Kresk knelt before the make-shift altar. For inside were all manner of infernal paraphernalia.

On one door, Kresk had an image of the devil sitting on a throne with his scepter. On the other, a series of commandments had been penned in blood, written in the language of devils. And in the center, an obsidian pentagram of Asmodeus had been gently placed amidst red candles. Resting at the Hellish symbol's base was Kresk's bronze pentagram medal. Prostate, Kresk closed his eyes, folded his hands, and began to murmur, "Our Lord, who art in Nessus, unhallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Baator, give us this day our daily blood, and forgive us our trespasses, as we punish those who have trespassed against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us to evil, for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever, amen. Our Lord, who art in Nessus..."

* * *

"Ouch. I mean... if it can freak out something like him... maybe I'm better off not knowing."

"Trust me. You really are. If I had known what I was getting into when I started this... I don't know. Maybe I still would have gone through with it. I'm still not sure how it's affected me. Have I come out better, or worse? Did I change at all? I was terrified, without a doubt, but it moved me. I can't say where I am right now."

"You're here, clearly."

"I wish it were that simple. I wish that I didn't have to re-evaluate the world and where I'm going in it, or who's coming with me. But, I suppose it's like dragons say; 'Jahen verthi huveni, muansi sotiri ornla qe.'"

"... What?"

"Basically, 'If wishes were horses, gryphons would be fat.'"

"...O-kay."

"It's pointless for me to be this conflicted. What will happen, will happen. I've just got to try and move along the best I can, and try to keep my friends out of the collateral damage."

"That's a rather mercenary attitude, isn't it?"

"You would know."

"Oh! I thought you said no more of that."

"I say lots of things."

"Aren't monks supposed to be honest?"

"I'm not technically a monk anymore."

"Well, not to put some holes in your already shoddy plan, but you can't protect them forever. You're friends are gonna' have to take some blows if they want to stay close to you."

"They know that. And they already have. But I think sticking through the rough bits is why they're my -friends-. Besides, they'll manage. They've weathered worse."

* * *

Beast Boy sat in his room, clutching the trifle which the Devil had given him. He had taken off his gloves; his bare, scarred hands absorbed every sensation of the gift. It was a small, leather bag, just big enough for his palms. The surface had been worn down to a mole-skin softness. Two little strings kept the pouch closed. Thoughts slithered between his surface thoughts, running and sneaking about like snide little weasels.

_Well, what are you waiting for?_

_I can't..._

_You can't, or you won't? God, you're so weak, so pathetic._

_I'm not weak! I just-_

_Just what? There's no reasoning here. You're just stalling for time._

_..._

_What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? No joke? No schtick? No impromptu play on words?_

_..._

_You can't even open it. You know what's inside, and you can't even get the bag open._

_..._

_Why is that? Because you know it will make you sick? That the smell and the feel will choke all your senses? Or maybe that's just it? Maybe you don't want anything to be in their, because the consequences would just be too horrible for you to confront._

_..._

_That's it. Just let it sit there. Put it in a nice quiet corner, out of mind and space. You can forget all about your worries... again._

Beast Boy undid the strings to the bag, ignoring the slimy undercurrent of his thoughts. Panicking, he watched as a flower comb fell out of the pouch, strands of dead gold hair interlaced in its teeth.

* * *

"I'm not sure hanging out with demons is good for you. You're starting to sound a lot like me."

"I can't really help it. I'm half-demon, just like you said."

"Still, shouldn't you try to shield them a bit more?"

"Maybe you're right. But at best, once a week, I can spit out a motivational speech that usually sets one of them on track. Until then, the alternative is ruling through a steady cloud of mystery and fear. And seeing as how that's where I started, I think I'll take my chances with appearing callous. Who knows? Maybe if I practice a bit more, I can dispense my wisdom twice a week... before I die."

"Hrm. Well, I think I've overstayed my welcome here. I'm off." Jinx pounced to her feet from the chair and began to walk away. She quickly turned around, however, coyly adding, "Oh, I didn't hear any of your thoughts. I found you out another way; you're the only person in this city with lavender eyes." Raven, a little miffed, breathed out, "Oh. I tried to change them with my magic, but each time they come out as something freaky. Pure black, red, glowing, slit; one time they turned into mouths. I just gave up after a while."

"So what were you thinking at me?"

"I can't legally tell you in the presence of minors."

"Ooh, kinky..."

"Just go." Jinx began to walk off again, only to pause once more. She tapped her chin idly before quickly blasting the coffee counter with entropic energy. Boilers and the fridge collapsed on themselves, sending food and hot water everywhere. The counter cracked in half, milk curdled instantly, and the sink began to spray water like hideous Charybdis. Laughing, the meta-human sprinted off amidst the chaos. Raven only sighed and returned to the trials of the ancient mariner on his crooked ship.


End file.
